


Where Many Fail, I Shall Triumph

by ForFun100



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age: Origins
Genre: Alternate Universe, Angst?, Drama, F/F, F/M, Family Drama, Ferelden is a wreck, Gorim being a cutie, How Do I Tag, How will these dorks save Thedas?, I just want them to be happy, I meant to do this, If they aren't sad is it really worth it, Isabela being Isabela (Dragon Age), Lots of plot, M/M, Mild Language, Mild Sexual Content, Oh yeah and plot, Original Character(s), Origins Spoilers, Origins gang being dorks, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, POV Original Character, Romance, Self-indulgent fluff, The fan fic you never knew you wanted, Wedding Fluff, Why are my OCs all a mess?, Wish Fulfillment, Zevran being Zevran, basically you're welcome, but they have to suffer first, keeping you safe in the work place, mild PTSD
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-04
Updated: 2018-03-30
Packaged: 2018-12-10 03:07:45
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 33
Words: 64,190
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11682756
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ForFun100/pseuds/ForFun100
Summary: Six origin stories leading towards diverging paths, some of which are more familiar than others. It is said that the best laid plans go awry, this is especially thus when fierce men and fiercer women take the reins of their own destinies. NOT a Dragon Age Origins rewrite, something far different in which all of the origins come to fruition in their own ways. AU.





	1. Lazuli

**Author's Note:**

> *Peeks out from behind a curtain* Hey, uh, so how about dragon age huh? Great game! ...I'm drowning in Dragon Age hell and I had to write a fic for it okay? Because currently I'm going achievement hunting and it's going just as well as you can imagine. The usual pain and agony.
> 
> So, here's my crack at an all origins exist, with a twist, here's the world stuff you gotta know going in:
> 
> 1) Only three of the origins become Grey Wardens
> 
> 2) The other three are the stories I'm telling
> 
> 3) We're starting when things start to go wrong, for all of these stories we're following.
> 
> 4) This story goes in tandem with Origins but is NOT a retelling of the game
> 
> That's all you need to know kiddies, have fun drowning in hell with me!
> 
> Also, quick note, I had a very lovely Beta helping me out with this one, shout out to white_tiger for your amazing skills!

**First it had been decided, Oris Brosca would join the Grey Wardens and help defend Ferelden against the fifth Blight.**

Lazuli holds the shield of Aeducan in her hands the thrill of discovery coursing through her veins, the ancestors have smiled on her this day. No amount of feuding siblings and vying for the crown will take this from her.

"Shall we head out my lady?" Gorim asks.

"Not yet, I should like to look around a bit." Laz looks up from the coffin in which the shield had been laid. "I'd find it odd if this were the only relic here, wouldn't you?"

"As my lady wishes." He responds with a respectful bow.

"Should we not head back? The shield was your mission, no?" Frandlin Ivo says sharply.

"And we will return when I decide we shall, have I made myself clear?" With a short sigh, he affirms her station. Turning back towards the large shrine she takes in all that surrounds her, walls hardly in proper shape yet not nearly in ruins. The space was not so large as it was impressive, with an intricate assortment of carvings wrapping around the walls and columns. Low hanging ceilings hardly taking away from the delicate essence the room seems to emit.

Having spent far too much time in the shaperate as a child than her tutors appreciated, she finds she is able to read some of the ancient encryptions. Eyes following the ancient dwarven script, the lot of them blessings on her house and their Paragon. Though there is not much left in the Thaig she feels drawn still, unable to name the reason for fear of its true meaning. Something like a faint song, calling to her…

A song not unlike that of lyrium, when she recognizes and acknowledges this, she begins to move about the room. Approaching the crumbling walls, she tentatively places a hand against the carvings, "The key lies in the hand of he who knows the lost song." The words come out of her mouth softly, the translation rolling off of her tongue without her consent. The way the language simply manifests itself shakes her back from the wall which she has been observing.

Lord Ivo again protests against her actions. "My lady, should we not return to your father? He may worry for-"

The song swells, calling her to one particular wall, with great haste she turns to the entourage. "Don't you hear it?"

"Hear what?" Gorim asks, this time stepping slightly towards her

"The melody of the stone." Her words are hushed but her movements are deliberate. In one swift motion, she walks back to the wall and places Trian's ring into a small alcove. With three steps taken aback the group watches the thick elderly wall fall away. With the wall gone, the song has only gotten louder in Laz's ear.

"My lady, we should not traverse unknown caverns, who knows what's in there?" Lord Ivo says nervously.

"Then you shall wait here until I return." She says, turning a sharp eye on the man she had bested in combat not a day prior.

"I'll not allow you to go alone." Gorim takes a step forward.

"Come or stay if you wish, and if your wish is to return to my father's side like cowards. Do so." Turning on her heel she strides into the cavern.

Gorim's heavy footfalls close behind, eyes scanning the blank walls for any semblance of a carving or clue to what lies ahead. Guided by the gentle lullaby and dim lights from sparsely placed torches she and Gorim traverse deeper into the chasm.

"Lazuli is this wise?" He asks her softly, "We really should have gone back, told your father and planned an excavation.

Letting out a gentle sigh she says, "If I know my brothers, Trian or Bhelen, one of them has planned some kind of coup. A time sensitive one, in all likelihood, a small diversion will throw them off to some degree. Besides that, there has to be something here, what it is I haven't a clue… But whatever it is I want to know."

Gorim shakes his head, a grimace plain on his face, "We could come back, bring reinforcements."

"Yes, and we will, but by the ancestors, I hear something. Don't you?" She turns towards her trusted second hoping for validation.

"No, I don't. That's precisely why I'm worried."

"What do you think it could be?" She asks, voice breathless and hushed.

"I do not know, and I nearly don't care. Please, my heart, listen to me." Suddenly at a standstill she remains quiet, "Lazuli?"

"Hush, Gorim." She whispers, the song weaving in and out of her, eyes scanning the vast darkness before her, the chasm fading into emptiness. Instinctively she reaches for her ring, holding it out towards the darkness waits for a heartbeat, then two. Stepping delicately forward she passes her hand slowly over the air before taking yet another ginger step. Hand repeating the same slow swiping motion, only this time grazing something unseen. Taking one sure step forward she lays her palm flat against whatever it is she has discovered, at her touch a dull illumination fills the hall revealing thick carvings in what she assumes can only be a door.

"What in sodding blazes is that?" Gorim asks having taken a step back, readying his blade.

"I… I think it's a door."

"Lazuli stand down, we're done for now. We need to get out of here."

But the song grows louder, more demanding of her, like each swell is what guides her hand through the simple pattern along the carvings, each one growing bright by the warmth of her hand. Abruptly her hand stills and the ring slides into place with ease. The area is engulfed by newly bright lyrium blue light, as the cavern stutters around them, opening the door with a stiff stark motion, falling slack yet still sturdy.

Before she can step inside, Gorim rips her away from the door, grabbing her shoulders he gives her a rough shake. "We are leaving, now!"

"But we have to see what's inside-"

"No, we have to go, we don't know what's going on, where we are, what this thing is. We have no back up, and no idea what we are up against. I have a million more reasons, but I'll stop at that."

"This is the Aeducan archive." She says but isn't sure how the words have come out of her mouth.

"How do you know that?" He asks.

"I-… I don't know, I just do." She looks back at the brilliant door, carvings which she had unknowingly traced over, taunting her. Singing and beckoning her to see what lies inside, her eyes gloss over as she stares at the dancing lights.

This time he does not ask, he drags her away from the scene. As they go, the lights fading behind them, they hear a sharp click from behind followed by a gentle whirring. She stills as if by instinct and picks up her ring, looking back towards the door with a saddened yet rapt gaze. Gorim once again takes hold of her arm and drags her back towards the original place of intrigue. Their two companions now missing, the hall feels much larger than it did previously.

"My lady will you be all right?" Gorim asks once they've exited the small shrine. His gaze full of concern and worry, one hand cups her cheek lightly while the other retains its grip on her wrist.

"We must find my father immediately, if that was an archive of some sort, the shaperate will need an excavation."

"I agree." He eyes her warily before the two set off towards the crossroads. Hardly a moment after they've exited the Thaig they are met by Endrin, Bhelen, and an entourage of warriors.

"Father!" She says breathlessly, "Please you must come with me-"

"Lazuli, what is the meaning of this?" He asks sharply, taking in his daughter's frazzled appearance. Her wide eyes and unnervingly lilted voice, in truth he has never seen his daughter quite so distraught.

"Your Majesty there was more than the shield of Aeducan in that Thaig." Gorim answers for her.

"You must come with me." She repeats frantically.

"This is a ruse, father, Lord Ivo told us she fled once she killed Trian." Bhelen says cruelly from behind.

"Trian is-…." She can't even utter the word, shock that her brother is dead. Even more so that Bhelen has managed it, and is now trying to blame her for his crimes. So shaken by this discovery, and the very real desperation she feels from her recent discovery, her heart nearly gives out then and there.

"Dead, by your hand." Bhelen points an accusing finger towards her.

"No… No, you don't understand."

"Seize her."

"Prince Bhelen do not speak for your king." Lord Harrowmont scolds.

"Lazuli, tell me you did not do this." King Endrin stares at her with cool eyes. He is not her father right now, but the uneasiness inside of her seems to override that fact in her mind.

She shakes her head, "Father please, you must listen to me, there's a hidden cavern in the Thaig. There is something in there, I don't know what it is, we turned back before we could discover more."

"Whatever it was, had a hold on you, my lady." Gorim intervenes, "Your Majesty, whatever is down there, I do not think it wise to send her highness back to it."

"The only place we'll be taking her is the dungeon." Bhelen spits.

"She and I have been exploring this cavern, Your Highness, she has nothing to do with Trian's death." Gorim insists.

"That would be a likely story were you not her trusted second." Bhelen continues to snarl.

"Stop this, the both of you!" Endrin snarls. "I would wish to see this cavern, I will heed my daughter's story until proven false."

Bhelen resigns himself to his father's wishes turning back to his wide eyed and increasingly pale sister. "Lead the way then."

Gorim almost speaks out, but she turns and rushes back down the long stretch of cave. The band of nobles and warriors follow, startled by the frantic nature of her actions. In truth Lazuli Aeducan is not one to act out of turn, ever cool headed and with a wit too sharp for her own good. The bright spot in Endrin's heart and all of Orzammar, it's no wonder her brother is vying for her downfall. However, her actions now, with unfocused eyes and bated breath, is a state nearly none have ever seen her in.

She rushes back into the Thaig through the shrine and into the cavern. "Your Highness, slow down!" Gorim calls, but she races back through the cavern, following the will of the song until she stands back before the door. Shaking hand extending before her she traces the patterns as if having always known them her whole life intended for just this task. She hears the whispers of the pattern in her head until the lyrium light fills the cavern.

"Ancestors preserve me." Endrin says in awe, "Lazuli, tell me, do you know this place?"

"Somehow, father, I do. It's like… kin." She says as the door clicks open once again. She doesn't waste time hesitating, instead she pushes the door open and watches in awe as the room begins to glow. Like her presence is bringing this space back to life after centuries of slumber. The song still strong inside of her, there's something here, and she's meant to find it. Be it the ancestors will or the very hand of fate itself, she does not know nor does she care.

This can only be the works of some other worldly being and she names it her ancestors from beyond the stone. Trying to tell her something, lead her towards something, her whole being engulfed by the need to see this through. Whatever this is exactly.

"You've made your point sister, I don't know how-"

"Hush, Bhelen, can't you hear it?" She asks, never once looking back at him.

"Hear what?" He asks harshly.

"My daughter, you have proven your innocence, come now we're leaving." Endrin says commanding her to leave the newly illuminated room.

The princess however looks upon the room with intense curiosity. This must have been a shaperate once, but whatever is calling to her, demanding all of her attention, that is what she is looking for. She continues into the room sees the floor to ceiling shelves, large forgotten tomes still in their dusty coffins not yet alive by her presence. But none of these things call to her, obediently she follows the pull of the song, despite the harsh protests from her entourage.

Without any warning the words are so piercing she wonders how she ever missed them. Letting out a strangled yelp she covers her ears bending nearly in half the sound affects her so.

"Help me?" She speaks the words she cannot get out of her head, stopping dead in her tracks.

"Lazuli, you will come with us now!" Her father's voice almost breaks the song's hold on the young dwarf. Endrin nearly runs towards his daughter but is unable to stop her from reaching towards tomb of which she has deemed the source of the sound.

Everything else falls to silence.


	2. Imogen

**Then it was that the Circle relinquished its newest mage, Wesley Amell, to the Grey Wardens. To protect and defend Ferelden from the Fifth Blight.**

It is thoroughly unsurprising that something goes horribly wrong on Imogen's wedding day, but how fitting that the fault is that of her troublesome cousin. Were the situation not so dire, nor so despicable, she is certain this would have been their new family joke. Heartbeat loud in her ears as she strikes down the Arl of Denerim's son, not a second passes before she wonders what she's done. Maker, she did not sign up for this.

"I'll get the others, you help Shianni." Soris says, rushing towards the side room. Imogen kneels beside her cousin and holds her fiercely.

"You're safe, you are."

"Thank you." Shianni shudders with sobbing, "This is all my fault…"

"Hush your mouth, the blame is on the shems who did this to you. None of it is yours."

"But if I hadn't-"

"I said hush." Imogen replies fiercely, tears stuck behind her burning eyes. "You're alright and they didn't touch you, did they?"

"Nothing more than wandering hands." She affirms, hot tears racing down her cheeks.

"Then I'm glad they lie dead."

"Maker's breath, they're dead." Shianni says in disbelief.

"I have the others let's go." Soris returns with his bride held firmly to his side.

"Come Shianni, can you stand?"

"I-… can." She replies standing on tentative trembling legs. Allowing her cousin to use her body as a crutch, Imogen and Soris lead the remaining elves out of the estate and back to the alienage all before sundown. The crumbling homes and tired streets sagging with the late afternoon sun, the streets still have a spattering of people wandering about, though significantly less than that from the beginning of the day.

It is Valedrian and Cyrion who greets the young ones upon their return, and Valendrian desperately asking questions as Cyrion holds his daughter and niece tightly. "Soris, where is Nelaros?"

His name sends a painful sting to Imogen's heart, not of a lost love, but instead lost kin. She had long ago decided, that any man she betrothed she would grow to love. Now she had lost the man she was meant to have and to hold, yet a part of her knew the only grief she harbored was one for another life lost. She felt an anger bubble inside of her at the idea, how dare those shems take one more thing from her before she could learn to love it? Just as they had done to Adaia, so long ago.

"Cousin, I am so sorry." Shianni says softly, Imogen cringes at her tone.

"He died trying to save me, and his death was avenged, in full." Imogen says the words with conviction, forcing the two elders to bow their heads.

"May he stand proudly at the Maker's side." Valendrian prays softly.

The soft trot of marching soldiers assaults the ears of every elf with an all too familiar and ominous ring. Streets empty instantaneously, before the dusty streets can settle, all that remains are the five young upstarts and the two elders.

"I seek Valendrian administrator of the alienage." The head guard marches up to the group. Shianni, Valora, and Nola hide behind the others. Imogen, standing at the forefront of them glaring each shem down.

"I am he, what brings you here?"

"Don't play ignorant, the Arl's son lies dead in a river of blood and there will be justice."

"I'm afraid I cannot help you. You know as well as I that the Arl's son has a reputation, and thus many enemies who could be at fault."

"I was also made aware by some of the escaped servants that the Arl's son had in his company, a few elven whores."

"We are not whores, we were captive victims!" Imogen snaps hotly stepping forward, venom in her voice. "Whores at the least get paid at the end of the night, but us? No, we were plucked from a wedding by that boy and taken for his pleasure!"

"Stand down girl, unless you know something."

"I know that it was my hand that slayed your Arl's son. Say it was an even trade for all he's done to my kind."

"You expect me to believe one little elf girl killed all of those people?" The guard looks at her warily and with such disdain she thinks herself lower than darkspawn for a moment, before remembering herself.

"Not all of us are so weak, Captain." Valendrian says, bright thankful eyes falling on Imogen.

Reluctantly the Captain of the Guard looks at Imogen with a fierce gaze. "You have saved many by coming forward, I don't envy your fate, but I applaud your courage."

"My fate is none of your concern." She holds the Captain's sharp stare, ears burning with flush as she chooses her words carefully.

"The rest of you, back to your houses." The Captain barks his order sending the others scrambling back towards the lineup of homes. Imogen's blazing glare steadfast on the Captain. "Guards seize her."

The moment the order is issued, Imogen unsheathes her daggers, knocking each guard to the ground as they come for her before she breaks for the nearby entrance of the alienage, climbing the cobblestone until she hangs gracefully on the portcullis. Her gaze directly on those guardsmen regaining their bearings.

Triumphantly she calls out, "Hear me now shems for this is the last you will see of me for some time yet!"

A few of the Guardsmen draw crossbows, fumbling to load them with arrows. "You will not find me among my kin,should you wish to capture me, look among the scum of your own kind!"

An arrow flies near her leg, missing by a fair margin in his haste to shoot her. "And if your skills are as lacking as this, I wish you luck!" Swinging herself down and through the gatehouse, she runs headlong into the market place.

Knives returning to their sheaths, she races around stalls in and out of the crowd. Though she imagines she must be quite the sight. An elf in common wedding dress which just so happens to be stained with blood, armed with daggers, running like the wrath of the Maker lies just behind her.

The thought passes her mind with a chuckle, though she does not hesitate for long, she manages to slide into the shadows, sending the guards into a panic no doubt. She slips into a small grungy port tavern, glances at the other patrons wondering whether her presence would alert suspicion. However, the patrons are of many races and, by some of the drunken shouting, ethnicities.

Taking a heavy breath she walks towards the bar, where a stern dwarf stands to serve those milling about. He gives her a dirty look as she approaches but decides this to be a normal enough occurrence to continue his work.

"Your strongest ale." Imogen sighs placing a sovereign on the counter. The dwarf once again looks at her harshly.

"Don't spend it all in one place, pretty little thing, you must've been up all night earning that kind of coin."

She glares harshly at the man when a voice enters the conversation. "The Lady did not ask for your commentary."

Imogen whirls around, eyes falling on a beautiful woman, dark rich skin and lovely curls, human unfortunately.

"Isabela, you know as well as I that elves are not even permitted weapons. Let alone this much gold." The dwarf grunts holding up the sovereign.

"Yet she has these weapons and this gold, were I you, I wouldn't want to be on the wrong side of either." The dwarf sighs dejectedly.

"Make it two and fast." Imogen says sharply. As the barkeep shuffles to get their ale, Isabela takes a seat beside her.

"It's my lucky day, a free drink and a beauty on my side."

"What was that about my not looking for commentary, again?" Imogen asks with a gentle smile dancing across her lips.

Tilting her head back, Isabela laughs, "Oh, you I like. I'm Isabela, as you've heard."

"Imogen." She returns the curtesy.

"What brings you to this hogwash, huh?" Isabela asks as their drinks arrive.

"My fiancé died at the hands of a man to whom I returned the favor." She says easily taking a long savoring gulp. The ale hitting hard and fast.

"Did you love him?" She asks.

"Not yet."

"Ah." She chuckles, "I see."

"How did you get here?"

"I, am a pirate." Isabela says with a half bow.

"Ah."

The two take a swig of ale, before Isabela speaks up. "If it makes you feel better, my husband is dead, and the bastard certainly deserved it."

"At your hand?"

"I only wish it were so." She laughs heartily.

"Humans are such strange creatures." Imogen says.

"And you elves are an enigma as well, would you be in the market to, lessen our differences?" Isabela's tone is teasing, but Imogen feels as though she could use a winding down.

"It just so happens that I am in need of a place to spend the night. One preferably out of sight."

Isabela leans forward so close Imogen can taste the ale on her breath. "I definitely like you. I happen to have the perfect place."

"Do you?" Imogen chuckles.

"How do you feel about boats?"

"Oh, boats are positively my weakness." Imogen confirms with a short scoff.

It's Isabela who leans in for a kiss first, gentle yet demanding. It is Imogen who continues it long after it began, fingers furling into her hair, tongue swiping the bottom of her lips.

"Would you like another drink before we depart?" Imogen asks, knowing full well if she does sleep with a pirate her pockets may be lighter come morning.

Isabela lets out a full loud laugh, "A woman who wants to take care of me. How delightful, I may just keep you around. No, I'm practically soaking as we speak."


	3. Georgiana

**Finally it was, that Duncan had his three recruits, ending with Flynn Mahariel of the Dalish. As thus three new Grey Wardens headed to Ostagar to pledge their lives in defense of the entire world.**

At first, the sounds of battle are mild and distant, even so Georgianna Cousland finds herself kept up by the noise. Hastily dawning her silk and lace dressing gown she creeps into the hallway her mabari war hound Rosco at her heels, but not before grabbing her trustworthy blade and shield. Walking briskly down the hall until she sees two fully armed men in the process of breaking down the door to the guest quarters.

Stealth having never been her forte, she charges the men without hesitation. Cutting through the slots of the plate mail, killing one in an instant. The other turns his blade on her, "Little bitch!" Barely passes his lips before he too lies in a pool of his own blood at Rosco's paws. Ripping the door open, Gigi sees Lady Landra cowering behind her son.

"My lady, thank the Maker it's just you." Dairren sighs gratefully.

"Who was he?" Lady Landra asks, glancing at the shield Gigi knows in an instant.

"Howe's men." Gigi says harshly, "Quick, go to my mother's chambers."

"I'll grab Iona, mother." Dairren skirts passed her across the hall.

"Oriana." Gigi gasps suddenly, racing back towards her family's quarters. Just as she reaches the door she hears a blood curdling scream and the telltale sound of squelching bones. Breaking into the room she sees a lithe assassin creep towards her nephew. The window he obviously came through broken, allowing the cold night air to assault the room.

"Face someone armed, coward." She snarls baring her blade against him. The duel wielding rouge turns his gaze towards her, lunging with both daggers barred. Not a second too late, she lifts her shield to block the attack before gutting the man before her.

Tossing the attacker aside she rushes toward her crying nephew, "Don't look Oren."

"Mother." The four-year-old sobs harshly before his aunt picks him up. Cradling him to her chest she rushes out of the room, away from the bloodied carpets and dead bodies. Eleanor is ushering her friends into her room when she spots her daughter.

"Georgiana what has happened?"

"Howe, he's attacking the castle." She hands her nephew off to her mother, "I have to find papa, now."

"No, at the least don your breast plate." Eleanor scolds harshly, "Give him no easy way to take your life."

Nodding she says, "Keep them safe."

"Oriana?" Gigi shakes her head, watching as her mother presses her lips into a tight line. "I'll kill that bastard Howe myself, given the chance. Go, now." The women part ways, Eleanor to barricade herself in her room, Gigi nimbly strapping on her breastplate as she races down the hall. Catching only one or two stragglers from the main hall where the fighting is loudest.

Upon entering the grand hall her eyes feel glassy, contempt rising within her; before her the dead piling up, burgundy pools of blood peppering the regal place. After a moment of jarring realization, she gazes upon the main door, men from Howe's infinite army pouring through the gate house. Her emotions flare wildly, from despair to rage, and finally upon realization. Close the portcullis, stop the inflow of soldiers, end the raid. It seems that the servants have barricaded one half of the hall leaving the other, where she has entered, exposed.

Suddenly she becomes unlike the gentle noblewomen her mother had spent so long grooming, instead an untamed savage she hardly recognizes takes a hold of her very soul.

"Rosco, fight!" She issues the command, to which her dog lets out bellowing roar before jumping at the nearest enemy.

Sprinting towards the battle she expertly fends off attackers like they are merely grain in a field for harvest, their blood the fruit of her labor. A fresh wave of soldiers' flood into the room but she is already expertly scaling the walls, utilizing tapestry and ashlar until she stands on the precipice between the ward and the battlements.

Not a second of hesitation inside of her, she leaps from the war wall towards the walkway, grasping onto the wall desperately when she smashes into it. Right side of her face burning with pain from the contact, she hauls herself up and into the fray. Men climbing up the walls on wooden ladders, she wastes no time helping her soldiers to cut as many down as she can. She turns to one of her charges and says, "Burn them now!"

He complies, grabbing the nearest torch and setting alight the ladder before pushing it away from the parapet. He rushes down the line doing as she bid him, Gigi always a step ahead of him, fighting those in her way. She turns her sights back towards the lever to release the portcullis. In an instant she's pulling the chains, dropping the heavy gate down on unsuspecting victims. Screams assault her ears not a minute after the deed is done, while not a pleasant sound, she finds herself full of relief. Now she's only to face the hundred or so men in her palace, perfect.

She turns towards the remaining handful of soldiers and commands them, "Head to the other side of the battlements, once you've dealt with them return to the main hall."

"Yes, my lady." The guards salute her jogging towards their new station. She however does not hurry back towards the hall, instead she gazes upon the hoard of men remaining, it seems the other side of the battlements already heeded her plan and have burned the ladders assaulting the attack. Howe's men don't have ballista's or trebuchets thank the Maker, but there is something strange. Only one man appears to be on horseback, Arl Howe must have been frugal in his exploits to take down the Couslands, how insulting.

She assumes this man to be their General, and leaves it at that, rushing back down into the brawl. Face flushed and eyes steely focused she knocks and bashes her way through Howe's men. Those asleep in the barracks finally having woken and joined the battle, the tide of soldiers thinning significantly.

Their victory does not come easy, though Gigi cuts down each enemy she faces with a lethal kind of grace and finesse, the battle is hard fought and tiresome to say the least. Despite knowing she's halted the barrage of new soldiers for now, there still seems to be a fresh-faced soldier lurking in every corner.

Finally, Sir Gilmore and a few other soldiers close off and barricade the main doors. She feels exhaustion overtake her body releasing all of its tension in one shallow sigh.

"Pup." She hears a weak call.

"Papa!?" She turns frantically towards a couple of soldiers hunched over the body of her wounded father, Rosco sniffing and chuffing beside him. Adrenaline returning, she drops to her father's side, hands feeling his sweat soaked forehead for fever. "Have you sent for a healer?"

"Of course, my lady." One of the soldiers says.

"Take him to his and my mother's chambers, send the healer there."

"Yes, my lady."

"Pup, do what you can to keep Highever, but whatever you do." He grimaces as the guards ready to carry him away, "Don't die for her, you don't give that shit stain Howe the satisfaction. You understand me?"

She grips his hand in hers and holds back her tears as best she's able. "I will save our home, papa. I swear it." She kisses his cold pale hand before nodding towards the guards to take him where she asked. She catches a glimpse of the healer at the door where the guards take their leave. She kneels beside Rosco and scratches behind his ears. "You have a new assignment, go protect my father, understand?" He barks in such a way that it sounds like a promise, before he trots towards the door.

"Sir Gilmore." She beckons, voice firm and near bellowing. "Give me a report."

"At least two thirds of our men have died or are injured, my lady. I've sent small groups to find stragglers throughout the keep. Two of those such groups have already returned. The servants have barricaded the east wing of the keep and it seems there has yet to be an infiltration there. The Chantry was burning but the flames have since been extinguished. The sisters have acted as healers until the word was sent, even with our reinforcements I doubt we will be able to hold on for long."

"My lady!" One of the guardsmen from the battlements rushes toward her roughly ten soldiers in tow.

"Report." Her voice is firm.

"Howe's men have fallen back, though they seem to have made camp just outside the walls."

"How far out?" She asks.

"Not half a mile." He points towards the general direction.

"You think they may be hoping to wait us out?" Sir Gilmore asks.

"I'm uncertain, they may be waiting until morning or it could be they are waiting for surrender. They know we don't have the man power to take on so many of theirs." The guardsman states this plainly as if the answer is obvious.

"What shall we do my lady?"

She takes a deep breath, the image of her father's broken body stuck in her mind's eye. Heart so thick with grief it hurts more with every beat. Gigi decides then and there that this war ends now, and it ends with her.

"Go to the stables, saddle my horse, and bring her here." She says sternly. "Actually, make that as many as you can, be quick."

"Right away, my lady." The guardsmen take their leave, all ten hurrying towards the stables.

"Georgiana, what's going on?" Sir Gilmore asks skeptically.

"I need to know who of those remaining is the best on horseback and the most fit to fight alongside me."

"Are you mad? You can't go out on the frontlines in a blaze of glory."

"This is not about glory, this is about preserving my ancestral home and saving my family."

"And you see this as the solution?"

"I do."

He shakes his head at her, "You are our leader and currently acting as the head of your house. Please consider this."

"Oren is alive as well as my mother, the Cousland line does not end here, even if I do. I will not have my home falling into the hands of that fade taken man." She says roughly.

"Gigi." Sir Gilmore practically whispers her name, "My friend, please, your father does not want this."

She smirks cruelly, "Do not fear, Sir Gilmore, I doubt these men know the fury of a woman who can turn the tide of a battle with a dog and a sword."

"As humble as ever I see." He manages to jest.

"Should I fall, stay to defend the keep, and make certain my family gets out alive." She says firmly.

"You're mad, you know."

"As any worthy leader should be. Now find me your best men." Sir Gilmore guides her towards the remainder of the troops, calling them to attention and asking for volunteers to ride into battle alongside their leader.

Gigi would be lying if she didn't admit her fear, the hesitation inside of her gut leaves her uncertain. However, the damned determination and stubbornness her father bred into her wins out. When the horses arrive, six in total, Sir Gilmore assigns her his best.

She mounts her horse with ease and instructs her men, with a voice that mountains would bend to. "Raise the gate but only just long enough for us to ride out. Then seal it immediately, should any stragglers infiltrate the keep kill them on sight. Keep your wits about you and do what is best for your men. Should that be retreat, ensure my family has safely escaped, our line does not die here."

"Yes, my lady." The guards and knights around her return their understanding.

"Gigi, is there anything I can say to stop you from doing this?" Sir Gilmore asks once more.

"I've made up my mind unfortunately." She says setting her horse towards the gate, the others following suit after her. "May the Maker guard and guide you always, my friend."

"May he cast his gaze upon you." Sir Gilmore says before closing the main doors behind her guard.

While waiting for the portcullis to raise, she lets her gaze fall on the men she had crushed under the weight of cast iron and anger. Their bodies a bloody crumpled mess, pierced chests, and crushed heads. Her stomach lurches, but she keeps her wits about her.

She casts her signal towards the gatekeeper and soon the grate raises before her. Spurring her horse to an immediate full gallop she charges out upon the dewy grass into the dark night, focus on the lights of campfires rather than the bubbling fear in her chest. Paying no mind to the men behind her, this is a personal matter regardless of what else can be spoken of it.

"Maker guide my blade and steady my hand!" She sends up her prayer calling attention to the camps set up before her. She watches as they too erupt into chaos, some of those too blinded by the thrill of adrenaline don't bother to grab their swords before charging at the small cavalry.

Those the horses do not trample, meet the killing edge of steel or the brute force of a shield. One after the other, she strikes down her foes with a ferocity and ire of a goddess. The men behind her catch the stragglers, trampling, and stabbing those who do not meet her on the field. Blood cakes to her legs as she goes through the rapidly thinning wave of men.

"Cowards! The lot of you!" She hears a gravelly voice up ahead, and for the first time takes notice of the General, mounting his horse in a rough bitter fashion. Gigi's heart nearly stops at the sight of the man, large and imposing, brusque in every sense of the word. Bracing her heart, she musters enough courage to charge her horse forward, leaving the group of soldiers she had brought with her behind.

Every second passes like an eternity, between her galloping full speed towards this General and him raising his great sword over her head. Soon, she is using her shield to knock the blade out of range. His scream near bursts her ear drum as her shield slides up her arm, hand grasping for his hair. She does not recall placing her sword to his neck but she sees the skin break.

This is not enough for her, she severs the muscle, feels his arm go limp above her. Still she slices, blood surging out of his neck like a river, no an ocean. Wine colored droplets flying this way and that as the sword cuts through bone. She is not satisfied until she holds his severed head up for all to see.

Eyes absolutely murderous, the sheer magnitude of her fuming rage fully realized as her words enter the air like an army of its own. "Should any of you wish this same fate, face me now."

One thing is for certain, Georgiana has never seen a battlefield in such despairing chaos as the one before her. The fear of the Maker strikes each soldier, every single one of them fleeing from the mad woman in a blood-stained dressing robe and breast plate holding the head of their leader high above her own as if wishing for the maker himself to see it. One would have to either be a fool or hold a death wish to remain, and she watches the field empty.

"As I suspected." She mutters, triumphantly returning to group of soldiers assigned to her charge. They handle the stray few still attempting to attack. Soon, they too have no one left to fight, bated breath and all, the small group heads back towards Castle Cousland's walls, heart finally slow enough for her heart to beat normally again.

They are greeted by Sir Gilmore, her remaining guard's men shout their joy, swearing their fealty to her. The group is mobbed by men and women praising their victory, but she hardly feels victorious.

"Um, my lady?" She looks at Sir Gilmore amongst the chaos, he gestures to the severed head still in her hand. With a thin gasp, she nearly chucks the head.

"Dispose of this please." She holds it out to him and immediately looks away as soon as she's able. For a moment, she wonders what she's done, and how she was able to commit such an atrocity. Bile rising in her throat as Sir Gilmore untangles her fingers from the hair of the General's head, there is a moment where she wonders if she'll add sick to the growing list of problems she has to deal with.

When she has her hand back she wipes it along the silk of her dressing gown as if to wipe her skin clean of him. Now as she looks about the hall the scent of blood filling her nostrils, she knows that this is not over. Whatever this is, has only just begun.


	4. Lazuli

**The Battle of Ostagar, bloodshed enough to fill an ocean, the darkspawn claim victory. King Cailan slain alongside the grey wardens, all but the four newest members of the order. Loghain Mac Tir, having successfully retreated with the ruminates of the army, marches back to Denerim to seize control of the crown.**

Upon regaining her bearings, Lazuli's eyes try to focus on any of her surroundings, but all she sees is darkness. Attempting to call out she hears her voice through a thick wall, which is to say, hardly at all. She feels very nearly choked, suffocating under the weight of something she cannot describe. Fear clutching at her heart, chest tight she tries again to cry for someone.

"Fear not, Aeducan." She hears a strong bellowing voice, almost echoing behind her, but she finds herself unable to turn toward it. "It was my cry you heard."

Unsure if her eyes are closed or not, the darkness surrounding her remains thick and endless. She attempts to question the voice but still finds herself unable to do so.

"Heed my words young one, I am your Paragon Caridin." She thinks she's gone mad, hearing voices, and naming them Paragons.

Finally, a spark of frail blue brightens her vision and as she takes a closer look she sees it take shape. Light remaining thin and transparent before her stands a large overbearing figure, that of which she recognizes to be a golem.

"I need your help." He says, though silence still claws at her throat, as if she physically cannot speak. "One of your kind, she who hails from Orzammar, seeks the Anvil of the Void."

She knows the name of the dwarf of which he speaks, yet she cannot manage to say Branka's name.

"You must stop her at all costs, believe me when I say that the Anvil must be destroyed. You must save your people, even if it means saving them from themselves. You know the way, the journey will be trying, but I expect no less than success from your line."

Laz has a million questions, desperation and anxiety rolling around inside of her. Still unable to move, nothing in her sight other than the wispy blue being before her. Power of speech still gone from her throat, she tries her hardest to do anything, speak or move. Both prove futile.

"You must do as I ask, Aeducan, live up to your familial name. Keep your people safe." And just like that he's gone and with him her senses fade as well.

The next moment she is aware, she's shot up straight in her bed, sweat soaked and fever flushed. Eyes scan the surrounding darkness, she recognizes this place to be her room back in Orzammar's Palace. Gripping her silk chemise, she does not remember wearing at all, though frankly she can't recall much of anything but that harrowing experience.

Was that dreaming? How do humans bear it?

Shaking her head, she leaps out of bed, only to collapse to her weak knees. Fear stricken and sick as she feels, Laz reasons she must tell her father what has happened. Or at the very least Bhelen, maybe Gorim, why does she have a sinking feeling in the pit of her stomach, that she's forgotten something?

Stumbling out of her bedroom, Laz staggers towards her father's quarters. Half tuning in to the world the muffled sounds of argument creep out of the room before her.

"Your highness, we were not aware you were awake." One of the guardsmen says to her, but she does not so much as acknowledge him. Rather she forces the door open, blatantly ignoring the weakness she feels in her bones.

The warmth of firelight engulfs her as she enters the room, taking ginger steps towards the large war table in the center of it all. Surrounding the table stands her father, brother, Lord Harrowmount, Gorim, the Lord Shaper, and two highly valued members of the warrior caste. As the men turn towards her she notices a map laid before them, but her memory seems to fail her for a name of the correct Thaig.

"Thank the ancestors." Endrin speaks, voice loud and clear in his relief. Approaching his daughter, he holds her close, squeezing her frame for good measure, before pulling away to observe her.

"Father-"

His features pinch together but his voice is gentle, "What are you doing here, Lazuli? You're pale as death and shaking terribly. Gorim take her back to her room."

"Father, please listen to me, I saw something."

"Daughter, we can discuss this later, your health is my main concern." His words have a stern finality to them but she does not back down.

"Caridin spoke to me, I do not pretend to know how but I heard his voice. He says that we must find Branka."

The room had already taken to silence upon her arrival, albeit a few murmurs here and there. Now however, the whole room is taken in vigilant quiet, Laz feels her cheeks burn at the attention, but continues to speak none the less.

"Somehow, whatever happened, he found me, addressed me as Aeducan and bid me find him and his Anvil. Said there was so much that we didn't know."

"Daughter, enough."

"You must believe me."

"Sister, Caridin is long since dead. I haven't the faintest idea what it was you saw or heard, but your mind is in a fragile state." Bhelen steps forward, her heart burns in her chest though she does not know why.

"I know what I saw."

"Laz, do you even remember what happened to you?" Bhelen asks sincerity and concern full in his voice.

Apparently at a loss for words her mouth gapes open, for a moment she attempts to wade through the muddied thoughts in her mind. She can't yet recall what happened but she will, it's just… difficult at the present.

"What's the last thing you remember?" When Bhelen came to stand by her side she does not know. His heavy hand on her shoulder, she searches his ever-blue eyes for some semblance of a memory. Maybe she is not so coherent as she had initially thought upon waking. The only thing she is certain of is Caridin, were he a phantom or a mind game didn't matter, he had come to her.

Vision swimming as she presses her memories to recall anything from before Caridin, but currently nothing comes up.

"Laz? Lazuli?" Her brother's voice cuts into her mind like a knife

She raises a hand to her throbbing temple, shutting her eyes so the damn world will just stop spinning. A soft groan escaping her lips her mind wanders from lost memories to her current situation, why are so many people surrounding her? Why is it so sodding hot all of a sudden?

She feels Gorim's gentle hand holding hers, prompting her to open her eyes. However, the room is all too bright, the two warriors and the Lord Shaper having joined the group before her, an inordinate amount of people. Legs give out beneath her and she crumples into Gorim's steady arms.

"Your highness!" Many a troubled sound echoes around the room, all but Gorim voice their concerns.

She mutters in his ear, voice trembling in her throat. "I am not crazy."

"No, you're sick, and in need of rest." His voice is steady and adoring, taking her further into his grasp.

"I'll send for a healer at once." Lord Harrowmont says firmly.

"We'll take her back to her quarters." Bhelen says, guiding Laz's legs into Gorim's arms and leading him from the room. Before she can blink Gorim and Bhelen are laying her in bed, leaving the lightest blanket loosely over her body.

Her room remains dark, only the light of the fireplace flickering softly in the hearth, still the heat is too much. Writhing under the constraints of the blanket, Gorim places a gentle hand over her chest, hushing her tenderly. He places a damp cloth on her forehead, her relief short lived as Bhelen hovers over her and Gorim.

The tears start suddenly, seeping into her ears, only acting to make her pulsing headache worse. A frail whine emits from her parted lips, wishing she could stop crying, stop feeling so sick. Gorim places his hands on either side of her face, skin cool and calloused, voice hushed he speaks.

"The healer will be here soon, don't worry. You'll be better soon. I promise you'll be all right." She could swear he leaves a kiss on her forehead, but he would never do such a thing before her brother. Whatever is wrong with her is certainly altering all of her senses.

Either she fades back into unconsciousness or the doctor arrives shortly after that, though the world is hazy and muffled in her ears leaving her uncertain of either outcome. She begins to fade in and out of sleep for the remainder of the night, waking vaguely warm and with an attendant at her side.

Upon waking the next day, she is immediately attended by a healer and handmaid, checked for bodily trauma before being bathed and changed. She would like to argue that her strength has returned at least somewhat, but she holds her breath in favor of allowing the attendants their jobs.

She asks to see her father, but the healer denies her, insists she regain some strength before receiving visitors. She is left to regain her strength for some two days before allotted even a moment with her father. Though brief, he places his hand on her cheek and tears up at the sight of her.

"You gave your brother and I a terrible scare, young lady."

"I'm sorry father."

"Don't be, just please take your time to heal." With that he gives her hand a squeeze, her forehead a kiss, and leaves her be. Gorim manages to slip in while her watchful attendants have left her be.

Taking up the seat beside her bed, he relay's all that had previously happened, the Thaig, Bhelen's betrayal, Trian's death. She takes it all in stride, nodding resolutely at each new bit of information. He stops just short of their return to the Thaig.

"What is being done about Trian's death?"

"Your father has been holding off his last rights until you recovered."

"Or didn't."

"No, Laz, we knew you'd make it." He tells her, words lilted with softness.

"Did you? What happened to me, Gorim?"

"I would… rather not speak of it."

"Why not? Has my father sworn you to secrecy?"

"Not exactly, it's just… I do not wish to recall you in such a state."

"I need to know what happened." She says firmly.

"You… Screamed, you reached towards this, by the stone, I haven't a clue what it was. It was like you were possessed by it, Laz. You touched it, and whatever it was threw you back to the entrance. Worst of all you screamed, the whole way back to Orzammar and long into the night. As if the whole time you were still awake and terrified." He shakes his head as if to rid himself of the memory.

She takes this news as well as she has the rest, nodding affirmatively absorbing each word with ease. Eyes filled with calculation, as if trying to decipher her next course of action.

"When do we begin excavation?"

Gorim looks at her like she's lost her mind, "There will be no excavation, in fact your father has already sent men to begin sealing the Thaig away."

"What?" She asks almost harshly.

"Listen to your second Laz." Bhelen stands at the door, walking briskly towards her, grasping the bed post as he reaches it, "The Thaig is being sealed, as it should."

"But there's so much-"

"Lazuli, look at me." Gorim says, "Whatever was in there hurt you. It does not matter what we can learn from it, if all that happens is death."

"I am not dead."

"No, but in what condition are you in now?" Bhelen asks, "Look at yourself Lazuli, bedridden after nearly week and shouting nonsense."

The tone of his voice sends a sharp pang throughout her skull, like the bone cracking under pressure. She takes one hand and cradles her head, feeling the pulse against her palm like a celebratory drum. Hissing at the immediacy of the pain she grips the bedding clawing desperate for relief.

Ears unable to pick up sound, she can only feel Gorim gently ease her back down to the pillows behind her. This headache spell lasts an exuberant amount of time, coming back in swells until finally fading away all together. This new development has healers concerned but Lazuli only cares about what is to come of this, after the pain has left her with enough strength to think.

On the day of Trian's funeral, she watches with bitter detachment as her brother's body is prepared to return to the stone. Standing beside Bhelen, the both of them dressed in full armor, she watches her father weep over the loss of his son.

"From the stone we are born, to the stone we return. We thank him for his life, his sacrifice, and his dedication to the people of Orzammar." The words spoken by the Lord Shaper are familiar to Laz, having heard them every time some noble or another passed on. She remembers the death of her mother now, staring at the body of her older brother. His words have never hurt more.

The headache begins in earnest, behind her eyes and so sharp a knife could be cutting into her skull and she'd be unable to tell the difference. Tears spring forth, making the pain nearly unbearable, like the release of water only adds to the pulsating of her mind. Resentful, spiteful even, she grips at her brother to remain upright, teeth barred together as Bhelen casts a concerned gaze towards her.

She pays him no mind, watching as her brother's body returns to the stone, until she can no longer keep her eyes open.

A reverberating voice calls for their father, but she pays no mind to anything around her. This sudden, throbbing affliction taking all of her energy to contain, so she does not collapse. Bitterly she succumbs to her pain, the moment that Gorim has escorted her back to the palace. Crumbling into a mess of tears, gripping him as if her life depended on it.

He carries her back to her chambers, waiting attendants ready with medicines and oils. Lazuli isn't sure why, but she has a feeling that nothing will heal whatever now lives inside of her. Be it insanity or illness, she fears the life left before her.


	5. Imogen

**By Regent-King Loghain's decree, all Grey Wardens are to be arrested and brought to Denerim for their crimes against the crown. Even thus, the wardens traverse through Lothering, helping those in need and recruiting those who've heard a call to serve.**

Having spent her first night in the company of one Captain Isabela, Imogen spends her morning wrestling with her inner turmoil. What lies ahead for her? Where can she go and how will she manage on her own? She has already sworn not to return to the Alienage, she cannot risk bringing harm to her family.

"What's that face about?" Isabela asks breaking her thoughts.

"Just wondering where I go from here, I was just about to ask you if my skills were satisfactory enough to seek employment at a brothel." It was true Imogen did not think much of sex work, only knowing she had a need for work.

"There's nothing wrong with that particular line of work, in fact I quite approve of it." She smiles in a sinful way, "But from your pretty mouth? I won't hear of it, you have a great many talents that could be exploited by the rich. While those include bedroom activities, I rather think you could get better coin and work elsewhere."

"Oh, and what could I do?" She laughs settling her gaze on the other woman.

"You out ran and successfully hid yourself from Denerim's guard, after killing an estate full of guards and an Arl's son."

"For one day, is that supposed to be an incredible feat?"

"Most people reserve one day at a time for those sorts of things. Not many would dare them all at once. As I said, there are plenty of people in this city looking for that kind of talent."

Imogen walks closer to Isabela, "And you know these people, yes?"

"I might." She responds, smirk pleasantly stretched across her face.

Imogen reaches up and kisses her fiercely for a moment before taking a full look at her. "Would it be hard for me to find this kind of work?"

Isabela tilts her head back and laughs loudly, "Behind the Gnawed Nobel in the Market District. Knock three times and tell him you're looking for work. Fredrick is always looking and from what I hear the pay is more than decent."

"Thank you." She says words hushed.

"Oh, anytime my dove." They share another kiss before parting ways.

Imogen is given a job the moment she has done as instructed, Isabela knew what she spoke of, never a shortage of jobs for interested parties. Imogen lives this way for the week after her failed wedding, going from job to job, staying out of the guards sight, spending her nights with Isabela.

When she receives word about the Grey Warden's, she almost can't care. The king dead? So what? It is upon hearing Loghain has taken the crown that she cares a great deal. She has heard that his disposition towards elves is just short of tolerance, instant pangs of guilt and fear consume her.

"Why don't you leave here then?" Isabel asks upon hearing of her dilemma. "You've made more than enough coin and garnered a reputation."

"Oh yes, a reputation as the most unorthodox elven upstart since Maker knows when." She says bitterly. "I can't leave my family."

"I didn't know you had any family left." Isabela says.

"Barely, but what I have I hold dear." Imogen sighs heavily, "When I fought back against my captors I swore they'd not find me among my kin, to keep them safe."

"And?"

"And? What do you mean and? I can't go back now."

"Why not?"

"I-"

"Oh, my apologies miss, I was under the impression I was speaking with an expert assassin and diligent thief. She could do anything she pleases under the cloak of night."

"I shouldn't risk it."

"If you don't, you'll never know what danger they're in, if any." Isabela lounges back on her cot, "Besides, I had quite hoped to spend some time alone tonight."

Glancing at the woman splayed out on the bed, Imogen grabs her daggers and leaves the cabin. Slinking in and out of shadowed alleyways, the sounds of rambunctious taverns covering her footsteps as she makes her way to the Alienage. How strange that only a week away from home, not quite that either as she has been near many a time during jobs, could make a place feel so different. The regular decaying buildings suddenly appear decrepit, and under the cloak of night, practically sinister.

Just as she's passing Valendrian's home she hears familiar voices from within.

"I'm worried, the raids stopped immediately." Her father says harshly.

"And the guards have thinned significantly." Soris' adds.

"Good, the shems should learn to stay away." Shianni's voice nearly pierces Imogen's heart, and she can't help herself from sneaking in. Deftly opening the back door, she slips in and shuts the door so quickly the two sounds act as one.

"Who comes?" Valendrian's voice is harsh and firm. Imogen quickly scrambles into the light, smile easing onto her face the moment her eyes fall upon her family. They look well, at the very least they haven't been starved for her insubordination. "Thank the Maker."

"Andraste's ass, Imogen you couldn't have come sooner!?" Shianni hugs her cousin tightly.

"I didn't want to lure any more trouble, than I was worth." She says hugging Soris as he approaches her.

"Trouble does seem to be your forte huh cousin?" He asks with a bit of humor.

"Papa I'm sorry-" Her father holds her closely, arms tight the moment they enclose around her. "I'll come by more just to let you know I'm alright. I swear it."

"You aren't staying?" He asks desperately, "We can find you a new husband, we'll move."

"Papa, I'm still a criminal. I have to keep moving or else you're in danger."

"Where will you go?"

"I intend to stay here in Denerim. I've found a job with good pay-"

"Cousin." Soris gasps.

She dismisses him immediately, "Not that kind of work, much more discreet and geared towards my talents. Trust me. You stay safe. Please."

"That was what we were just discussing." Valendrian says folding his arms.

"We thought you'd been caught." Soris explains, "But I think it has to be Loghain."

"What has he done?" Imogen asks, instantly on her guard.

"Nothing but lighten their hold on the Alienage." Valendrian informs her, "I fear this is the calm before a storm."

"What kind of storm?"

"That is the question."

Imogen lets her gaze wander between the faces before her, the only people in this world for which she would give up everything. Shianni, her best friend since birth, Soris practically a brother. Valendrian a wise tutor to all, but still a bond of kinship. Of course her father, she loves him beyond words. Truly that is nothing in this world she would not do for them. "Then I will learn as much as I can."

"Imogen?" Her father looks at her surreptitiously.

"I can sneak into the palace, learn what I can about the Regent and report back. Shouldn't be too difficult really."

"We can't ask that of you, Cousin, you said it yourself. You're a wanted criminal by the royal guard, no less." Shianni shakes her head.

"I have to help, this is my home just as much as it is yours, and besides who will keep you safe if not me?" There is no laughter and so she adds, "Please let me help you."

Her father shakes his head, "Is there any way I can convince you to leave? Let us go to Highever and be done with this. We can start over, Imogen."

"Denerim is our home, Papa."

"We can't ask this of you." Soris says definitively, "It's too dangerous."

"You aren't asking me anything."

"Daughter, I cannot stop you from doing anything. But please consider what I have said." She hugs her father tighter than before, taking in the warmth and comfort he provides. "Oh Maker, why did you have to be so like your mother?" He asks tugging on her hair, tears stuck in his eyes as he pulls away from her.

After a few full moments of silence, she pulls back, "Also, before I forget." She pulls out a bag of one hundred silvers. "Please take this."

"Imogen, how?" The group gawks at her in awe.

"I am very good at my work, believe me. I figured silvers would be less suspicious."

"I cannot just take this from you." Her father pushes the coin back toward her, but she resists leaving bag close at hand.

"You're not taking it, I'm giving it. Please do with it as you like. Stay fed, stay safe, give away as much of it as you like." She insists so harshly, until her father takes the bag tentatively from her.

Her looks at the coin with awe, albeit a nervous uncertain awe that leaves her with a bubbling guilt. "You've a place to sleep? Are you eating?"

"Yes, and yes. I've made a few friends."

"It is pointless to tell you to stay out of trouble, is it not?" Her father shakes his head, a tired smile stretching across the planes of his face.

"I'll not get in trouble papa, I swear it." She promises him, giving each of the elves one last firm hug she departs, a bit saddened and a little more confused about the situation with this new King Regent. Just as quietly as she had entered the Alienage she disappears escaping back into the night, as if she had never been in the first place.


	6. Georgiana

**With little direction and even fewer friends the Wardens set off towards Wesley's first home at the Circle of Magi in hopes of finding aid. They are then met with the seemingly impossible task of annulling the tower. Wesley swears to save what he can, the others merely follow.**

Despite the fact that Bryce Cousland is slowly dying, the energy in his room is still warm. When Gigi sent him to his chambers, the healers did their very best to heal him, unfortunately his wounds are too severe to do much beyond making him comfortable. Eleanor has sworn to remain at Castle Cousland until her husband passes on, and Gigi cannot deny her mother this.

Gigi sits by his side this morning, relaying all of the work she's begun to rebuild the Castle, Rosco asleep by her feet as she speaks.

"Once the main gates are rebuilt we can send more people to work on the Chantry, yesterday I sent a few soldiers to town to inspect for damage. Luckily there wasn't much of a disturbance until the troops fled the field. I've begun recruiting for more builders, but the army is still suffering from the losses we endured."

"You're doing well, Pup. I'm proud of you." He says this to her every day, she fears this stems from his pending death. She notices the greying of his skin, features more sunken than the night before, but the light behind his eyes remains.

"You too, Papa." She responds with a bright smile, guiding his hand to her cheek. "We have still yet to receive word from Fergus, or Ostagar."

"I know, luckily Highever has her Teyrna waiting to take over."

"Don't say that, mother isn't exactly fit for such a task at the present."

He snickers at her comment, "There really is no contending with you, Gigi. I pray for any man who takes your hand."

"He'll not be the one taking anything, papa. I'm surprised you'd even entertain the thought."

"My mistake."

Eleanor walks in just moment after the silence settles between the two of them. Bidding her father good day, she heads back to her own room for a change of clothing, her mabari remaining by her father's side. After the initial attack, her worries were placed in the wellbeing of her father, and that of her soldiers. It was not until early the next morning when most of everything had finally been resolved that she got a good look at herself. Covered in blood, dressing gown torn and dirty, no wonder Howe's men had run from her in fear. She had looked positively terrifying.

Now as she dresses for the day she observes herself again, despite the lack of sleep she has managed to retain her youthful appearance. Running her hands gingerly along the smooth milky planes of her face, thoughts of how she is never one to covet looks in others, yet always nitpicks her own appearance. She blames her upbringing for this vain mindset, her mother always insisting that beauty opens doors.

Soft hazel eyes to match those of her mother, rich caramel curls tumbling down her back in effortless ringlets. Eyeing herself, she knows how genial she looks, positively innocent, yet knowing better she wonders how this does not reflect in her face. Shaking her head, she continues changing, pulling on her sparring trousers and doublet before heading towards the majority of the rebuilding.

While they were fortunate for Howe's gross underestimation of the hold, not a trebuchet or even a catapult, the battlements and the main hall still sustained a great amount of injury. The first day after the attack, Gigi took a small entourage around the grounds to assess the damages. While the entire Chantry needs to be rebuilt, only portions of the outer wall need maintenance. She is overseeing all of these things in her father's stead.

She walks into the main hall, eyes trained on the men busily working to rebuild the front wall structure. Sir Gilmore approaches her briskly, "My lady."

"Report."

"Restoration is well under way, the main structure had some damage but nothing too severe. My guess is it will be ready by the end of the week. The outer hall has more severe burn damages than we previously thought and as such I've relocated those workers to the battlements."

"And guard duties?"

"We're posting as few during the day as possible so we have more available for the night shift but we've lost a few more soldiers."

She sighs at this news, "And what of Highever? Have we recruited anyone else?"

"For the building projects only, many are still awaiting word from Ostagar and are unwilling to join the guard if it means more fighting."

Nodding she turns back to the structure before her, "Well, I suppose we should get back to work."

"Are you certain, my lady?"

"Yes, I should like to spend the better part of the morning here. After lunch, I think I will take up my father's other duties."

He bows to her before leading her towards the construction. Many an odd glance pass her way as she picks up a hammer, but the builders seem to have grown used to her presence. With a shortage of hands to work on the rebuilding process she deemed it necessary to be a part of the process personally. Before all of this occurred, it was not uncommon to find the young lady among the guards and servants in her spare time.

Her father always says she possesses the mind of a great leader, knowing that it is those who work for her who will keep her held in high regard. Truthfully, it's simply because she longs to know what it is she wants. She treasures her upbringing, being taught the ways of a proper lady and trained as warrior, however it has left her uncertain which life she wants. That of a soldier or a lady?

Diligently working for the majority of the morning she moves on to have lunch with her nephew and mother. Oren has not taken the loss of his mother well, doesn't seem to realize she's truly gone. Constantly asks Eleanor when his mother will be well again, Gigi corrects him unable to bear the sight of her mother's grief. The two women can only hope Oren will not be left an orphan.

After their meal Gigi begins going through trade documents and demands of those in Highever. She hears of three more deaths among the guard and grows nearly furious. Her anger at Howe comes and goes, but when it returns there is a burning fury every time. Her chest grows hot with rage and tears threaten to spill out over her cheeks, she hates vehemently and only hopes for his slow painful death. One similar if not worse than what has been inflicted on her father, nearly a week has passed since the attack and her father grows weaker with each day.

But when her thoughts travel to her father she has to stop, can't bring herself to think of his death. Her heart fills with fear and she knows if she allows such feelings she'll cease progress. There's work to be done, no time for such passionate thoughts, tucking them in the back of her mind she continues through parchments of declarations and trade reports.

As the candles dwindle and the lights around her grow dim she considers whether or not she will take up a guard shift or sleep. Just as she's about to decide one of the maid knocks swiftly on the door.

"Come in." She calls standing up ready to leave.

"My lady, your father requests your presence." The maid curtseys low before her. Gigi almost pushes the woman over rushing out of the room towards her parent's chambers.

When she enters the room is cool, one of the windows left wide open, the only light flickering in the hearth. Her father looks sunken in the bed, sweat glossing his brow, a grimace plastered to his face. Dread fills Gigi at the sight of him, sending prayers up to the Maker she takes up her father's hand standing opposite her tearful mother.

"Pup?" His voice is a shallow whisper, so low the sound could easily be lost to the wind.

"I'm here papa." She promises pressing his weak hand to her cheek.

"Darling?"

"I'm here, dearest." Eleanor sniffs softly.

"Good." His grimace morphing into a phantom of a smile. "At least my girls are with me."

"Would you like to see Oren as well?" Eleanor asks.

"No, the poor boy has already seen too much death."

"Bryce." Eleanor lets out a sigh of a sob.

"Hush my love, I've lived a good life. At least-… I know you and our daughter will live on." Eleanor kisses her husband's temple, features rosy from tears. "Pup…"

Gigi kisses her father's palm letting him know she remains by his side.

"You will be Teyrn in the absence of your brother."

"Yes papa, I'll make you proud I swear it."

"My little girl."

"I love you papa."

"I love you too. Take care of your mother." His sickly gaze lands on her face, directly addressing her with a little smile he says, "You'll do well… I know it."

"Thank you." She whispers to match his tone, she leaves a kiss opposite of her mother's. He doesn't say anything else, Gigi takes hold of her mother's free hand. Together the two watch Bryce Cousland take his last few breaths. When his chest stills, Eleanor holds a breath waiting for a moment before she is certain of his fate.

"Oh Bryce." She collapses in heavy blubbering sobs over his body. Gigi feels the tears fall down her cheeks, scared to let go of his hand because she knows that when she does it will never hold the same warmth it once had. She wants nothing more than to be held by him, taking in the comfort only a father can provide.

Instead of this she lets his hand go and holds her mother's crying figure. Turning quickly, Eleanor sobs into her daughter's embrace, Gigi speaks smoothly despite her tears. "He's with the Maker now mother. He's finally stopped suffering."

She says nothing in response, just cries weakly. Gigi looks towards the door, two guards entered at the sound of Eleanor's sobbing.

"Take his body to be prepared for the funeral." Gigi says, hands drawing patterns into her mother's back, hoping to provide some semblance of comfort. Despite having lost her father she knows that now is not the time to fall apart, her mother deserves this chance to fall to pieces.

The guards lift her father's body and exit the room leaving the two women. Eleanor cries until her eyes simply can no longer produce tears. Gigi take this moment of silence to look at her mother.

"Would you like to sleep elsewhere tonight?" She asks softly.

"I should, shouldn't I?" She asks gulping down air trying to regain her breath. "I told Lady Landra I'd come stay with her after… After."

"I think you should, maybe take Oren with you." Eleanor nods, a shuttering sob taking over her body once more.

"I will, be alright."

"I know, but for today, it's alright to be distraught, mother." Gigi hugs her mother one more time, "You'll sleep in my chambers tonight, I'll get Oren to sleep."

"What of you?"

"I will have the maids set up a cot in father's office." She lies easily, her mother nods slowly seeming to fall back into despair over the loss of her husband. Suddenly Rosco makes his presence known, licking Eleanor's hands as if to tell her he's sorry.

Once Eleanor is set for bed in Gigi's room, the young lady walks across the hall to Oren's chambers, Rosco trotting behind her. Even he seems to feel the weight of this tragedy.

When she walks in she sees Oren wide awake laid in bed but not even close to sleep.

"Aunty!" He springs out of bed and runs into her arms, "I don't want to sleep yet."

"I know little one." She says gently.

"Can't we play with your puppy instead?"

"In the morning, you can." She carries him back to the turned down bed and takes a seat. "For now, it's time to sleep."

"I don't want to. I'm not tired, and besides sleeping is scary."

It takes all of her strength not to deflate at his words, so young and already plagued with nightmares. "Why doesn't Aunty sing you a lullaby? Would you like that?"

"We really can't play?"

"No, Oren." She adjusts her hold on the boy, his head resting in the crook of her neck. She lets the soft tune of a lullaby fall out of her lips singing about the beauty of time. Her heart straining in her chest as she sings the words. This lullaby, the one her mother sang when she was little, forces her to carry a burden she could never have been prepared to hold.

Oren falls asleep quickly, she tucks him into bed and snuffs out the last of the light. She heads towards her father's office readying herself for a very long night. Rosco whimpers at her the moment she's settled back in the office.

"You miss him too?" She looks at him sadly. He places his head in her lap nuzzling her hand for an ear scratch. "I pray this hurt eases…" She doesn't know how she'll survive if it doesn't.

With Rosco licking her free hand she spends the night working on reports, before joining the late-night guard. Never once shedding another tear for the loss of her father. All the while her heart aches so much, she wonders if it will ever stop hurting this way.


	7. Lazuli

**Traversing through the Tower was difficult enough for the Wardens, falling into the Fade did nothing but add to the harrowing experience. However, they persisted eventually winning the day, saving the tower and in doing so gaining new allies.**

Headache spells become the new normal for Lazuli, as unfortunate as this fate is. It matters not where or when, they strike suddenly and with a vengeance. Pain so intense it travels as far as her teeth, she is left helpless and crippled, eventually leaving her wasted with exhaustion. Endrin demands she go into seclusions until healers can find something to help her.

She never obeys, always sneaking out in favor of spending her time in the shaperate, studying until the pain comes for her. It always finds her eventually. She has gone as long as a few days without even the slightest twinge of pain, then all at once she's gripped by violent pulsing pangs throughout her skull.

The people of Orzammar have heard of the princess's affliction, naming it tragedy, staring harshly at her whenever she wanders the streets. Some of the braver nobles ask how she's fairing, others insist she should be resting. Taking these comments with grace and diligence she insists she would not be out were she not feeling well enough.

Gorim has been reassigned, due to Bhelen's insistence, he now acts as her brother's second, and the thought of it makes her sick. Still, he manages to make time to see her, especially when she is laid up in bed from the aftermath of a spell. Her life has changed drastically, no longer is she loved by all, instead she is looked at with pity, treated like a porcelain.

To top all of this, her father has taken ill, the stress of watching his daughter fall apart before him coupled with the grief of losing his oldest son. She's noticed him growing paler, more tired even, but recently he's made less public appearances opting to stay closer to home.

Instead of dwelling on these misfortunes she spends her days researching in the shaperate. Searching tirelessly for anything in the expansive dwarven history for something like she experienced. So far, she has found nothing even close to her own experience. Let alone something worthy of the many hours she has spent looking over every tome she can get her hands on.

She stands over a map of the old kingdom eyes stuck on the newly added anecdote beside Thaig Aeducan, 'Off Limits, Dangerous'. Shaking her head dismissive and irate, she scans her gaze over the map looking over the many roads and script written in empty spaces describing new developments. She skims over the map, she has done this at least once a day for the past few weeks always hoping for a new development.

Just as she's about move on to the next work her eyes fall on a strangely circled area of the map, her eyes had glossed over this portion of the map many a time. But now as she observes it she notices a different type of scrawl above it. 'We start here', the script is hardly legible, unlike any of the scribes impeccable handwriting. Ortan Thaig, she has rarely heard of such a Thaig before and wonders why the name sounds so familiar. Curiosity getting the better of her, she abandons the books before her in search of a large history work about the old empire.

Racing through the pages she finds a well-documented debate over Caridin's birth, having originally hailed from Ortan Thaig. This intrigues her even more and it doesn't take long for her to put together the pieces. Branka must have ended up in Ortan Thaig in search of the Anvil and clearly hadn't found it yet, so that must mean Caridin would have hidden the Anvil of the Void not far from there.

She refers back to the map, searching for roads between Thaigs, she makes her own small notes, tracing possible routes around the empire. There are only a limited amount of paths she could have taken, and if that vision, dream, whatever it was could be an indication, Branka had nearly succeeded. The Anvil could very well be just a few miles out of Ortan Thaig.

Filled with a rush of excitement she hurries out of the shaperate and back to the palace to inform her father of this new information. Endrin is no fool, if he hears her out, she might have some semblance of a hope at heeding Caridin's plea.

However, upon entering the palace she is greeted by her brother standing by the entrance of the royal family's quarters.

"Ah, Lazuli, just who I was hoping to see."

"Not now, Bhelen." She sighs.

"No, now." He gestures for her to join him.

"Brother, I mean this."

"As do I. Entertain me." He starts leading her up towards the palace's large balcony overlooking the whole of the Diamond Quarter. She has rarely come here, in her memory she remembers being here when her father announced the death of her mother. Aside from that she could count on one hand the amount of times her father had brought her up here for a serious talk.

She gazes out at the city, there is little motion beneath her gaze but the warm light all around engulfs her with a sense of fullness despite this. Each building built sturdy and strong, intricate in detail bearing the insignia of the family dwelling inside. The silence begins to feel heavy between her and Bhelen, she's been waiting for her brother to speak. When he makes no indication of speaking his mind, she opens her own mouth, eyes focused on the landscape before her.

"What is this about?" She asks lacing her fingers together as she leans on the banister.

"Father wanted me to tell you this in private." His voice sounds strange, tired maybe?

"Then be out with it."

"Father and I have decided that it will be for the best that you marry."

She whips around to glare at him, "Have you? And who will take the hand of a mad princess? Since that is the only reason I can imagine you would so easily cast me off."

"Laz, look around you, your affliction affects more than just you." Bhelen dismisses her sharp comment.

"Oh, my apologies, I did not realize  _my_ ailment caused others such issue." She spits heatedly.

"Father is ill because of it."

"No, he is ill because you killed his son." Her voice is even yet lethal.

"Laz-"

"Are you happy with yourself?" She nearly scoffs at the idea, "Proud that because of your actions, your brother is dead and your sister has gone mad?"

"You think I wished this fate on you, sister?" He asks, voice surprisingly desperate, "Say what you will of me, I am not evil, nor am I cruel. The fate I imagined for you was much kinder, believe me."

"And what fate did you imagine, brother?"

"Not this, anything but this. Watching you slowly lose yourself, sick nearly every day, I can't even begin to imagine the pain that grips you with the way you wail into the night. This is a fate I would not wish on my worst enemy."

"You would have rather watched me die."

"At least then you would be at peace." He says this with such a forthright intention that the words nearly make her stumble back. Once, in happier times, she and Bhelen would partner themselves against their self-righteous older brother. Playing pranks and tag-team teasing that left the two of them in pain inducing laughter as Trian brushed them off as immature. Her little brother wanted her dead, he still does in a way, the anger she feels in her blood absolutely boils.

"In one fell swoop, your two older siblings gone from this world. What would be left then, brother? Father in ruins? You the prodigious son who stood above the familial quarrels that took the lives of his beloved siblings?"

"You think I enjoy this prolonged suffering? For either party? Lazuli, believe it or not I have always looked up to you-"

"So, you thought to kill your inspiration? How quaint, I certainly would have thanked you from beyond the grave."

"I do not apologize for Trian's fate, he deserved everything he received. The idiot said so himself every day."

"You pompous little-"

"He would have killed you had he been given the chance, and you know it. Whatever your position is now, you agree he earned his death."

"I would have never asked him to die, Bhelen. He was a sodding fool, but it is not my place to decide who lives or dies."

"That is the difference between you and I, you say it is not your place, yet I  _make_  it my place."

Laz keeps her firm stare, "Father has yet to name a successor, I know that is all you care for."

"He'll never-"

"Bhelen, wake up! I never wanted any of this, not to be a general, not to be a queen, or even a politician." Her tone is wickedly sharp and her brother cowers away from her, slight as the gesture might be. As if they're just children again and he is still weaker than she. "I never cared for any of it, you and Trian were content to battle it out. But I have never wanted anything to with your plans, somehow I still managed to get caught up in this anyway."

"What is done is done, Laz. Trian is dead and you are ill, though I did not wish it, that is the world we live in."

"You'll live everyday knowing that whatever ails me is no one's fault but your own. I hope that is punishment enough." He turns from her and stares out at the city. His gaze downcast, she looks at him as her own breath settles in her chest, in this silent moment she can almost convince herself his words are true. That he never wished this fate upon her, that he admired her greatly, but any tenderness she once felt for her brother is gone now. Whatever he is, he also killed Trian, tried to have her killed or worse, and still he's her little brother. How can those two things live in tandem?

She asks him one more pressing question when the silence is too much for her to handle. "Who have you promised me to?"

"Gorim Saelac." He looks at her with a smile so small and soft, she knows it's the most sincere she's seen him in years.

"What?" She asks, shock just about knocking her over.

"Father and I agreed that he will take good care of you in your illness, when we brought up the matter to Gorim he agreed. Father is having a small home commissioned here in the Diamond Quarter so that you won't be too far. You'll have a good life, sister, he will be as loyal as a husband as he was a second."

"I-…"

"Are you unhappy?"

"I can't believe father would agree to that."

"Well, you're his little girl, his precious daughter. He'd do anything to see you regain any bit of your health."

"You make that sound like an insult." She says, a familiar unwelcome pain blooming behind her eyes.

"I don't mean it as such." He says looking at his hands, "I just hope he is as forthcoming with my intended."

"That casteless girl, you mean?"

"She has a name, if you can marry beneath your station, why shouldn't I?"

"Forgive me, that was not my intent. I was merely asking." Laz feels the pain creep towards her face, she fights it off, knowing full well the battle is futile.

"It's… My methods are not so refined, but neither are the politics of Orzammar. I want to fix so much."

"I know… Ancestors, I know." She mumbles the words closing her eyes to fight back against the ache. Now she hasn't the strength to argue with him any longer, and he notices immediately.

"Laz?"

"I'm fine." She says grinding her teeth together, "I just need a moment." He takes her shoulders and guides her back inside, just as she hears him call for a maid, she collapses into tears.

A horde of servants' rush to help the princess and escort her down to her chambers, there attendants and healers are already waiting to receive her. She knows how this will go, a new treatment that still won't work to quell the pain and the healers will leave scratching their heads. Leaving her with dim light and hot water bottles, in an exhausted ruin of her former self.

Some hours later the pain has subsided to a dull ache, her fingers furl and unfurl around the blankets surrounding her frame. A swift unexpected knock breaks her trance, and in steps Gorim, tentative at first but soon finds himself standing beside Laz holding her hand tightly.

"How are you faring?" He asks softly, one hand running across her hairline.

"The pain is gone for now." She returns, eyes locking instantly with his. Wondering how he can still hold such a gaze of admiration for her, she smiles for the first time all day.

"I have been speaking with your father, and your brother."

"Oh?" She asks, voice light and breathy.

"We have decided that it might be for the best that you marry." He says the words tenderly as if speaking too loudly will startle her awake. When she only responds with a cocked brow he continues. "A change of pace, less people around you at all times. We think it could help you adjust, maybe even heal a bit more."

She looks down at their locked hands, asking what she would only dare to voice around him. "When did my life become other people making decisions in my stead?"

He leaves a soft kiss on her temple whispering an apology, "I'm so sorry, my lady. I know you never asked for any of this."

She looks at him and steals his lips with her own, breath hitched in her chest, they have not shared such intimacy since she fell ill. At the touch of his lips she comes to life, not having realized the sense of loss inside of her heart from the distance they've been forced into. She feels the hesitation in his hands the shock and eventual relaxation as he curls his fingers into her hair. There is precious little that can heal the soul as a kiss from someone who loves you.

He breaks away from her touch breathing heavily he touches his forehead to hers. "Marry me, Lazuli." She takes him back holding onto his neck for dear life, unable to speak her own affirmation. There's a need inside of her, how she misses and longs for him, words will only muddy the waters. Right now, no matter what Bhelen has done, or what any map is guiding her towards, she only needs Gorim.

The world has taken everything else, but it will not take this, not him.


	8. Imogen

**As the Wardens travel across Ferelden from Soldiers Peak, to Honnleath, and back to Ostagar, they pick up companions along the way. Wesley quickly warming up to the lay sister, while Flynn sends seductive glances at anything that blinks. Oris on the other hand keeps fixated on the task at hand, soon they will be in Redcliff and he is uncertain how this will play out.**

As if fate had sewn Imogen's path by hand, a few days after her first visit back to the Alienage one of her Interested Parties gives her an assignment. Asking her to set up post working in the Royal Palace, acting as an informant on the happenings inside. She sees this stroke of luck as a double-edged sword, she'll have to stay hidden from the guards.

"Hide in plain sight, as it were." Isabela said when she'd presented the idea to her. The two sat in The Pearl, each with a drink in hand, having fallen into their new routine seamlessly. With Isabela's ship docked until further notice, she and Imogen shared her quarters. Though their lovemaking had significantly reduced as Isabela had no intention of settling on one little elf. Imogen finds no problem with this, and instead inquiries about the skills of Isabela's many lovers.

When the morning comes on the day she begins her internal work of palace intrigue, she hesitates to get ready. This is the first morning she will be wearing something other than leathers, the maids dress she slips onto her lithe figure feels all sorts of wrong. Her warm reddish skin clashes horribly with the colors and pinning her hair rather than just tying it in its usual style. She feels outside of herself, like her essence is floating behind this false persona, yet she has little choice. Having promised her family, she'd keep an ear out, and getting paid for it? This was obviously meant to be, for what purpose she was uncertain.

Her arrival to the palace is without ceremony, a new presence is likely a common occurrence, however she remains on edge. Passing through the many halls given instructions by the housekeeper she feels like a true pariah. Eyes scanning each wall and door as if she'll learn something new just by the woodgrains and polished marble.

She has been given the task of polishing floors, and she wasn't even aware floors needed to be polished, let alone that they could be. She is left alone in what has been deemed her portion of the castle, a small swell of halls in the east wing, without a clue in the world how to start. Eventually she gets to her knees and begins scrubbing the floor, that counts as polish, doesn't it?

Her work is slow and methodical because, what else is she going to do, this is currently her only assignment for the day. This is around when she starts wondering if this was a particularly good idea. Of course, she knew the basics of cooking and cleaning, she would have been expected to be a housewife for her future husband. What she does know of keeping a house ends at minimal cleaning and cooking that her father managed to teach her.

"Are you certain that the assassin is dead?" Her ears perk up at the sound of deep voices coming from the room beside her. Two guards stand at attention so she keeps busy, but instead of reflecting on her inability as a maid, she zeros in on the sounds she hears. Certain to keep her head down, should the guards know of her criminality.

"Whether he's dead or not is irrelevant, the job was not finished and I demand to know what you intend to do about it."

"The Wardens were last seen heading back towards the wilds sire."

"And?"

"And the Bannorn is on the brink of civil war, all of our manpower has been sent to quell civil unrest."

"Civil unrest will cease once the Wardens are no longer an issue."

"Yes, sire."

"Have you yet heard of Highever's fate?"

"No, sire. No information has come out of Highever since the attack."

"I want information as soon as you get it. I want to know the moment the castle has been compromised."

Imogen moves on before the conversation can conclude or anyone can exit the room, wondering if any of this information is useful or even remotely relevant to her employer. She pockets the news and scrubs her way through the halls until she's done for the day.

Skirting out of the palace, head down the whole way out of the district, she disappears into the mass of citizens. Once she reaches the Market District she walks determinedly towards the Gnawed Noble, once she meets her informant he looks at her harshly.

"The Client is staying upstairs, the door's left open for you." He tells her under his breath. Making her way into the tavern her eyes travel between the scattered nobles on holiday. Drunken messes, the lot of them, all talking loudly and making a nuisance of themselves. They'd loath to discover how similar they are to the common folk, coin makes no difference in the stupidity of man.

She climbs the steps two at a time until she reaches the landing, when her sights land on the door left ajar she wastes almost no time entering the room. An older gentleman with a greying beard and yellowing skin stares at her, gaze melting into satisfaction.

"Ah, here's the entertainment for the evening." He says sending a jolt of panic through her bones, the other two men in the room stare at her hungrily. "If you'll excuse us lads, for enough coin you might be able to convince the barkeep to send for your own entertainment."

The two men laugh heartily before walking out of the room, one of who's hand wanders towards Imogen's frame, before apparently thinking better of it. The door latches behind her, and she strides forward with little reservation.

"Ah, yes come closer my dear, you are divine to look at." He leers placing his elbow on his knee.

"I've your information sir." She says decisively.

"You're my spy?" He asks almost taken aback, "A tiny thing like you?"

"Would you like your information or not?"

"Ah, yes, you elves always wanting to get down to business."

"In my personal experience that's human males." She retorts hotly.

He stands near towering over her, while not hard to do (she really is a small thing, even by elven standards) she glares at his looming figure.

"What have you learned then?" She relays the information concisely, watching as the wheels turn in his head. When she's finished speaking he sighs, "I feared as much. Could you gather what happened in Highever?"

"No, I did not wish to be seen."

"And the Wardens?"

"As I said previously." He runs his fingers through his hair seemingly frustrated. "Am I released?" She asks trying not to sound overtly cautious.

He looks her over for a moment before walking towards her, it takes all of her strength not to stumble back. He grasps at her hair and twirls the light brown strands between his fingers admiring the way the light shines off of the lock.

"And what of your payment?"

"I don't need money-"

"Then why else would you be working this kind of a job?"

She glares at him harshly, "Simply to keep myself busy."

"And you've no other pastimes?" He asks, eyes bright with intent.

"My other pastime happens to be killing nobles." The words pierce his demeanor instantly as she watches him step back.

"I see. So, you are the elven upstart who killed the Arl's son."

"And if I am?"

"Then I might have the best spy under my hire." He says the words methodically. "I expect weekly updates on the happenings in the palace. And maybe, you'll warm up to other services."

"I wouldn't hold my breath."

"Well, make certain those two bastards downstairs don't see you leave then, can't have your reputation or mine on the line." He leaves two sovereigns in her hand and turns his back to her. Quickly slipping from the room, Imogen races back towards the Pearl, eager to rant about her day to Isabela.

Upon arrival Isabela has a pint half-finished in front of her, Imogen takes the mug and finishes the drink herself.

"Oh, that kind of day huh? I expect due payment." Isabela laughs as Imogen tosses the sovereigns at her. The two of them trade coin often, sharing money for drink and lovers, Imogen stowing hers away for her next visit to the alienage.

"Human men are abhorrent."

"All men, dear, all men." Isabela corrects.

"Andraste's ass." She goes into detail about the day she endured, lamenting about floor polish and the latest idiot she encountered.

Isabela laughs, "What you need is a proper treatment, from a proper man."

"Unfortunately, Isabela, I'm afraid the proper man does not exist."

"Oh, for you? He certainly does, I only wish he were here and not schmoozing his way into half of Antiva's under clothes."

"Sometimes I wonder if you really see me, or just imagine I'm you."

"You could be me very easily, if only I had a working ship."

"I can't leave Denerim, it's my home."

"What kind of a home tries to rape and imprison its inhabitants?"

Imogen stares at the empty bottom of her glass. "Alright, Denerim's a shit hole. But it's my shit hole."

"How quaint. You've no desire to go anywhere else? See the world? The open seas?"

"I might someday… I feel a storm is coming."

"There is a Blight on the way, so I'd say you're correct."

"Did you leave anyone behind?"

"No." Isabela says as-a-matter-of-a-factly.

"I'm sorry then."

"No need, the maker only hands us what we can handle."

"You? Believe in the Maker?"

"In case you missed the point, Imogen, there's a lot of bullshit in this world that can't be explained away. If a Maker has answers for me, I'll take answers over none at all."

"That's one way to look at it." She chuckles, "So, any new bedroom accompaniments for the evening?"

"Are you asking me if I'm sleeping with you, or if I'm getting you a good time?"

The two laugh before Imogen smirks, "You save your hard earned money, I'll be waiting back at the ship, should you find yourself lonely."

"I still think you could use some, male attention."

"And I still think you're mad."

"You'd be right, and so am I. When it comes to sex, I am well versed in its healing abilities."

Imogen shakes her head with laughter, "Should you find someone of worth, please let me know, until then, I'm off to bed."

"All alone, too bad pretty thing." Giving a two-fingered salute Imogen waltzes out of The Pearl and onto Isabela's ship, looking forward to good night's rest.


	9. Georgiana

**Upon their arrival to Redcliff the Wardens are greeted by the frantic ruins of a town at war. It is Alistair and Wesley who commit to helping them in their darkest hour, Oris and Flynn more hesitant to help those who seem close to annihilation. They face a horde of undead together, and manage to ward off the evil for one more night.**

The funeral is a production to Gigi, wishing for a more intimate ceremony, but knows that her father was well loved by those in Highever and beyond. Not even a day after his passing his pyre lights the sky with smoke, incense and skin burning together making her stomach protest. The first time she weeps for the death of her father is here, at his last rights, her mother falling apart beside her.

Eleanor takes Oren with her, when she departs for Lady Landra's estate the day after. Castle Cousland has become a ghost town practically overnight, and the weight of it all hits Gigi harder than she thought it would. The weight of grief and loneliness so much more intense than she lets on, practically dissolving into tears every time she is left to her own devices. She loathes to say that Arl Howe has destroyed her life, but she finds it hard to separate where her grief ends and her anger begins.

The restoration of Castle Cousland is crawling along, having never known what is involved in construction, Gigi doesn't know if this is a longer than usual process. One thing is certain she needs more recruits, the hold cannot stand with so few soldiers. Having discussed fully with a few of her officers several recruitment plans, she finally manages to have them in agreement. Castle Cousland and Highever must have a standing army, and they are willing to recruit anyone they can get.

Donning simple riding gear, she prepares to depart for town, intent to inform the people of Highever of her position. The people had learned of her new position of Teyrna on the day of her father's funeral but she had neglected to make any public appearances. As such she requests for a three-guard escort into town intent on speaking with her people, maybe they'd see reason when it came from the mouth of their leader.

Sir Gilmore and the rest of her entourage are waiting for her arrival, Rosco trotting loyally behind her.

"Sir Gilmore, should I be aware of anything in particular?" She asks mounting her horse, Nessie.

"Apparently there are many rumors floating among the merchant class the Arl Howe has claimed the Teyrn."

"Is there?"

"I'm afraid so, and that's not even the beginning of the gossip spreading about. Supposedly the Grey Warden's betrayed King Cailan."

"Maker, the world has lost its mind." She shakes her head as they set off towards town.

"But there's yet another rumor that Loghain abandoned the king on the field and the Wardens are trying to avenge the king."

"So, what is the truth?"

"The truth varies depending on whom is being questioned."

"Why am I not surprised... And Fergus?"

"No word."

She gazes upon the large walls of the city, Highever has always been the most beautiful sight to her. Large clean buildings, the scent of sea air thick and cool throughout the year, the market place always bustling with life and colors she's rarely seen elsewhere. There is never a short supply of friendly smiles or rumbling laughter, and this day is no exception.

As she and her entourage strolls into town there seems to be a sudden heady air to the whole market place. All at once she notices children running through the streets, young maids with floral baskets gossiping prettily, young men light in their teasing of one another. Upon her arrival, many of those working stop to stare at her blatantly, intrigue peeked she dismounts and walks reins in hand towards one of the stalls. Rosco panting at her side, she can't resist scratching behind his ears affectionately before speaking to the shop keeper.

"Good day sir." She says with an easy smile.

"Teyrna Cousland, it is an honor my lady." He smiles in return.

"How has your business faired since the attack?"

"Things have improved in the past few days, my lady."

"And before then?" She asks.

"Before… um, well, you see there were some straggling soldiers from Arl Howe's armies. They attempted to burn the city to the ground."

"I am thankful they did not succeed, and apologize that the Teyrn was unable to help."

"Oh no, my lady, there were so few of them that the small town patrols you organize for us kept them in check. Though if I may speak freely."

"Please do." She nods to him.

"Well, the majority of those soldiers were not Amaranthine, they were mercenaries." He says the words lowly, as if the masses of people staring at them will skin him alive should they catch even one syllable.

"I see. Thank you, good sir." Gigi takes to her horse once again and rides a bit away.

"My lady?" Sir Gilmore asks riding up beside her.

"He wants me to hire said mercenaries, doesn't he?"

"I don't think that's what he was implying at all."

She brushes him off heading to the next stall, smiling easily and beautifully at the stall keeper. Asking similar questions to the previous, she continues in this fashion until she has made her rounds of the market stalls. Occasionally stopping to buy a snack for her mabari or a small toy for Oren she intends to give him once he returns. All she has gathered from the store clerks is that there was indeed a small riot by Howe's men, but was quickly put down by her guardsmen.

If that is the case, she wonders why so many families refuse to join her army, there's a part of her mind that tells her to quiet these thoughts. Saying that her thoughts and prayers should be for the preservation and wellbeing of her people. Yet her heart demands that some of her thoughts remain selfish, that she's the one who lost so much, and these people have lost very little.

"Shall we head home, my lady?" Sir Gilmore asks.

"No." She says, allowing Nessie to nibble her hand. "I wish to visit the Alienage." The only other bit of information she managed to gather is that the Alienage suffered a slight bit of damage during the attacks.

"Are you certain, my lady?" He seems cautious, though she has spoken to him at length about this very topic.

"Is there a problem?"

"No, my lady, but usually they have some time to prepare for your arrival."

"What should they have to prepare?" She is not so stupid that she does not know the Alienage is the worst part of the city. But from her understanding Highever's Alienage is better than at the very least Denerim's. She had only been once or twice before with her family, and those were very rare occasions, the opening of an orphanage or a new administrator.

Stepping into the Alienage she is not as taken aback as she had thought she would be. Yes, the buildings are dingy and slightly in disrepair, the streets are worn, and there seems to be a stench of something fowl in the air. However, there is nothing she would not have expected to see, she finds herself hardly surprised.

There's groups of children playing in the center of the Alienage, random men and women walking purposefully in every which way. In some ways there is more activity here than in the Market District, that is what surprises her the most. She approaches the home of the Alienage Administer, however she hears a smaller voice speak up.

"You won't find him there miss." He says softly. "He's gone to oversee the rebuilding."

"Rebuilding?" Gigi asks softly.

"Is that how you address your Teyrna, boy?" Sir Thomassin asks the boy harshly, his eyes widen to half the size of his face.

"Sir Thomassin, I do not believe you were spoken to." She reprimands sharply.

"My lady." He acknowledges her station taking a step back under her harsh gaze.

"Young man, could tell me where he is?" She returns a much kinder gaze to the boy before her. He cowers from her gaze, but seems too frightened to run away. "Don't be frightened, I just wish to speak to your administrator."

"I-I-I-He-He- Near the…. East wall, my lady." He bows clumsily before her.

"Thank you, young man." She reaches out to give him a tentative pat on the head. "Go back to playing with your friends, I'm afraid their jaws may drop off if they continue to gawk at you so."

"T-T-Thank you, my lady." He runs off as if his life depends on him doing so.

Deciding it better to walk through the Alienage than to ride, she holds Nessie's reigns and walks beside her dog, gazing upon the elderly buildings as she passes. People begin casting her nervous glances, gathering in small groups and whispering to one another. She feels as though she is a pariah among these people stared at as a most anticipated event in a circus; she feels almost nostalgic, this is just like every party she's ever attended since sprouting breasts.

The Administer of the Alienage is held up on very unstable scaffolding attempting to repair damages to a ruined house with just a few other elves. Watching intently as he works until they too seem to notice her presence, he deftly climbs down to greet her.

"My lady." He bows to her.

"Administrator, I take it."

"Yes, I am Bellas, my lady."

"I heard that the Alienage suffered damages during the attack of Castle Cousland."

"I-… Yes that is correct, but we have managed to repair most of the damages. Ours were not quite so severe as those sustained at the castle." His words are quick, as if stumbling through this interaction. Swaying between dignified tone and discomfort at the suddenness of the situation.

"I am happy to hear it." Rosco begins sniffing at the man's plaster covered hand. Bellas seems to stick where he stands, too frightened to move. "Tell me, how did you handle the attackers?"

"With all due respect, my lady, there were not so many of them, barely a handful even."

Without an ounce of distress, she takes another step forward, Bellas seems to shudder at her actions but keeps his composure. "Is there a reason you seem so uneasy?"

He lets out a nervous chuckle, "Forgive me my lady, I spent many years working with your father on the issues of the Alienage and he was quite forgiving. Among the rumors I've heard of you… needless to say you sound mythically strong, I fear finding myself on the wrong edge of your blade."

"Rumors?" She asks.

"I-… Yes, well, your father spoke highly of you, Maker rest his soul, but after the attack on Castle Cousland there were many who spoke of your talents with a blade. Said you single handedly saved the castle, even so much that you beheaded the leader of Arl Howe's army."

She hears this information and hasn't a clue how to feel, humored? Insulted? She settles for a gentle smile and a shake of the head, "Take those rumors with a grain of salt, sir. I never would have defeated my enemies were it not for all of the brave soldiers under my father's command, nor would I ever claim such."

"You are very humble, my lady."

"Hardly, just intent to keep the truth palpable." She says, "Walk with me, tell me what has happened here."

Bellas nods to her and begins leading her through the streets, relaying the events of the Alienage attack. How a small group of men entered the city through the Alienage and began attacking and threatening citizens. Soon men and women flooded the streets with meat mallets and kitchen knives retaliating against their attackers. Bellas quickly informs Gigi of the laws against weapons in the Alienage, how they are lax on knifes and daggers of varying kind, but that only swords, war axes, and other such items are prohibited.

She listens carefully and with great interest, the conclusion of the tale ends with the sudden arrival of the town guard arresting the offenders and questioning the elves they managed to capture.

"Were any of the elves involved detained?" She asks.

"Not longer, than a day, my lady."

"And they were unharmed?"

"A tad shaken up I'm afraid, but otherwise no."

She nods satisfied, "I'm happy to hear it. Please extend my thanks to the families affected."

"I am certain they will appreciate the sentiment."

"Tell me, Administrator, should I extend an offer towards your people, would they accept?"

"We would be honored, my lady. What offer would that be?"

"As you might have heard, the casualties at Castle Cousland were staggering. I wish to extend positions of the guard towards the people of the Alienage. Should they be willing to join." Bellas stares at her with a slack jawed awe, and so she continues. "I have spoken with my officers and we all believe that our elven citizens should be allowed to defend their home as any other."

"My lady, this is a great honor, I will make the announcement this evening." Bellas finally manages to speak, bowing deeply towards her.

"I thank you for that, I should like to meet any of those willing to join my ranks. I'll be back in three days, I ask for you to give me a full report of each of those interested."

"Of course, thank you so very much."

"Thank you, administrator." She nods to him, mounting Nessie and setting her sights for home. "Sir Gilmore."

"My lady?" He asks dutifully.

"What would you have done to the captives from Howe's army?"

"Personally? I'd wish them hanged for their crimes against the Teyrn."

She nods, mulling over the thought in her mind, "I see."

"But it matters not what I wish, you are Teyrna, it is your decision."

"That it is." She says softly, not a word is spoken until she returns to Castle Cousland. Upon her arrival she dresses down into a comfortable cotton dress and takes up her post, after receiving updates on construction and guard post she finally makes her decision.

"Sir Josclyn, I wish you to send word to town in the morning." Gigi's eyes rest upon one of only three commanders in the ranks of her army. Sir Gilmore and Sir Arnold already in her presence.

"Yes, my lady, what news?"

"Tell the dungeon master that any of those captured from Howe's army are to be quartered, publicly." The venom in her voice is staggering even to herself, but the three guards nod at her decision.

"Yes, my lady."

"Dismissed." She turns around and walks briskly back towards her office, once there she kneels beside Rosco, eyes already filling with emotion as she pets his head. He sits up as she scratches behind his ears, licking her face while her eyes leak familiar tears. Burying her face in his coat, she cries as she's grown acoustomed, all the while not knowing if she will ever stop.


	10. Lazuli

**Come morning the Wardens investigate Redcliff Castle, finding undead littering the halls, before discovering the source of the destruction. The Arl's boy, a mage, possessed by a demon and determined to destroy everything in its wake. With the help of Wesley's former friend Jowan and the services of the indebted Circle, they manage to save the boy from possession. Even with this victory the Arl remains ill and it be only a matter of time until his eminent demise.**

Having never imagined herself the type to marry, Lazuli finds herself stunned by all the commotion surrounding her. The wedding has been rushed, due to her father's failing health and that of her own, but the constant rush of planning has had her in a tailspin the past few weeks. Dress fittings and meal planning, she wonders why anyone had thought her fragile before any of this. When it is now apparent she can handle all of this and more in a single day. Yes, the pain still finds her at inopportune times, but when she keeps busy she is able to avoid it for the most part.

The morning of the ceremony her room is flooded with servants, she is bathed and dressed, light makeup painted with a delicate deft hand. Just as quickly as the whirlwind appeared they are gone from her side, leaving her alone until being fetched for the ceremony.

In Orzammar weddings are conducted in three stages; the first taking place Hall of Heroes where the grooms family spend the night before in silent vigil asking for the blessings of their Ancestors for a fruitful marriage. The bride remains in her ancestral home hosting guests and well-wishers throughout the evening. Laz had played host to the hundreds of families arriving at the palace's doors just the night before, each of them bearing gifts and charms of all kinds. She wonders how many of them actually hope for the long life and prosperity of an inter-caste marriage, but holds her comments to herself.

Today is the second phase of the ceremony in which she is adorned with fine jewels and clothing, then presented to her intended's family. If she is accepted as their new daughter they will hold a procession to the shaperate, for a wedding of this magnitude there will be crowding in the streets. For others, it might simply consist of the family and close friends. Together the new couple approaches the Lord Shaper and asks for their union to be recorded in the memories.

Laz cannot for the life of her remember the last time she was dolled up quite like this, shoulder length red hair curled in traditional fashion, pulled from her face like a curtain. Wearing a dress of all things, this too is of course as traditional as possible. The long thin silk sleeves bell at the wrists, straight across neckline falling into a fitted bodice before dropping into a free-flowing skirt.

Among the nobility, it is customary for the wedding dress to match the period in which their family rose to prominence. In Lazuli's case, this means the entire dress is covered in colorful embroidery on top of cream colored fabric, flowers and fauna stitched by hand in bright reds, blues, pinks, and yellows. In her hair hang decorations known to the period, a delicate yet intricate circlet of gold, wrapping around her head and dipping into a bright blue lapis lazuli stone at the peak of her forehead.

Staring into her reflection, bright Aeducan blue eyes boring back into her, she tries to find some part of her former self, but behind all of this lavish beauty she can hardly even breathe. There is an overwhelming tension in the air, even as she sits alone, praying to her Ancestors for strength that she mange to get through this day intact.

Throughout her life she has seen many weddings, heard the joy and triumph in the streets and even joined in the fun herself. How can she feel so far away when this is her own joyous day? Her love for Gorim doesn't feel like it will sustain her throughout the day's festivities. Why does this feel so wrong to be doing?

Her hands run along the textured fabric of her dress, hoping the shaking of her hands will cease, she hopes her mind will settle and her fears will release their steady firm grip upon her. Everything will be alright, maybe this is not perfect, but it is enough, she tells herself.

"Lazuli, are you ready?" Her father asks entering her room tentatively. Standing from her vanity, she turns to meet his gaze, a slight nervous smile spreading across her lips. Endrin places a hand over his heart, tears already falling down his cheeks. "You're more beautiful than your mother on our wedding day."

Laz chuckles, "Don't say that, she'll come back from the stone to smack you for it."

He laughs before taking his daughter in his embrace. "My little Lazuli." He pulls away, kissing her forehead before offering her his arm. Tucking her hand into the crook of his elbow, the two walk out of her room and toward the entrance to the palace.

Truth be told it does not hit her until this very instant that this is the last time she will be able to call the palace her home. The sadness hits her like a wave of memories, in her mind's eye she can see herself, Trian, and Bhelen playing games and running circles around their father. The utter joy in Trian's laughter when Bhelen realizes he's grown taller than her and prods at her incessantly. Endrin beaming with pride as she bests Lord Bemot's eldest son in combat. Bhelen running to find her, still so small but eyes full of tears as he tells her he hit Lord Menio's son for calling her names. All of these things, figments from a past and person she hardly remembers.

Bhelen takes up her other side the moment they've passed the threshold, patting her hand once as he tucks it away in his elbow identically to their father. Cheers erupt at their appearance and the heady drum beat swells with the crowd. Festivities began earlier this morning when Gorim's family returned from the Hall of Heroes, shops opened and the music began, the streets had flooded with patrons partaking in the goods for sale. No one has begun to dance yet, however, that honor is reserved for the bride and groom.

Their walk towards the Saelac home is slow going to say the least, the procession is outlined by every noble house in the Assembly lined up on either side of the road. Clapping Endrin or Bhelen's back as a congratulation, each dwarf having something to say on the engagement. How proud they should be to be marrying into a family so loyal to the crown. Laz is relieved at the distraction, the longer she has to drop her nerves the more prepared she'll be to actually marry Gorim.

The thought is still surreal even as they approach the front door, the threshold is significantly less decorated than the one for their new home. Nonetheless, garland hangs on either side of the frame bright and welcoming, his entire family stands shoulder to shoulder, packed in tight by the rows of nobles. Gorim stands beside his father, dressed in his finest clothes, stark white and gold doublet with similarly trimmed trousers. Hair slicked back, and beard freshly trimmed, the moment his eyes fall on her his hand raises to his mouth. Shock, maybe. He shares a look with his own father before they and his mother step forward to greet her.

Endrin smiles at his own second, before his voice rings out. "Nuvran Saelac, do you accept the Lady Lazuli Aeducan, into your household?"

Nuvran smiles back brightly, "I accept the lady into this house."

Endrin turns his attention towards Gorim's mother, "Do you, Dahlia Saelac welcome the daughter your husband has accepted?"

Dahlia smiles kindly at her, "I welcome the lady with open arms."

Finally, Endrin's gaze falls on Gorim, who has not stopped smiling since his hand fell back to his side. "Gorim Saelac, do you accept the hand of Lady Lazuli? Swear to protect and honor her for the rest of your days?"

Gorim seems ready to simply nod his affirmation, but opens his mouth at the last minute. "I promise this and more."

The mob of nobles cheer, the sound so deafeningly loud they must feel a rumbling on the surface. Lazuli feels a blush take over her whole face, up to the tips of her ears as the shouting swells to a climactic howl. Once the sound has returned to a palpable level she turns towards her brother, to her surprise his gaze is gentle, calm, and even kind. He takes her in his arms and squeezes her tightly, kissing her cheek before he pulls away, one last firm grip on her shoulders he releases her to their father.

Endrin has tears stuck in his eyes as he claims his daughter in a fierce hug, rocking her back and forth he chuckles in her ear.

"I suppose it was too much to hope for, that he would say no."

"He's no fool, dad." She says gently, rubbing his back.

"Of course not, who would deny being your husband?" Endrin finally pulls away, tears streaming down his face as he kisses the top of her head. She leaves a kiss on his cheek before smiling brightly at him.

"I'm not going anywhere."

"I know." She wipes his eyes of tears before he takes her hand and presents her to this, her new family. Nuvran takes her hand, slides on a signet ring for their house on her index finger, and leaves a chaste kiss on the back of it, she returns the gesture with a low curtsy.

Dahlia approaches next, with a smile so bright Lazuli finds it impossible that it should grow when their eyes meet, despite it doing just that. Once they have bowed to one another, the older woman wraps the traditional scarf around Laz's waist, before straightening up to kiss both of her cheeks. After returning the gesture, Dahlia takes Lazuli's hand and presents her to Gorim, his eyes have grown misty since speaking, she bites back the bubbling laughter in her throat as a response. She's never seen him so overcome with emotion, never thought that he was capable of such a feat, yet here he is so in awe of her his eyes fight to contain their tears.

All of her prior nervousness settles into excitement as she locks eyes with him, her soon to be husband. He bows, she curtsies low to the ground, and she allows him to lead her back towards the shaperate. The sounds of noise makers and well wishes herald their journey, she leans closer to him when the crowd swells with excitement, he ever strong and sturdy by her side.

They arrive quickly, climbing the steps of the shaperate, where the Lord Shaper stands awaiting their arrival a smile pleasantly stretched across his face. Once they stand before him he asks, "Who am I presented on this day?"

"Gorim Saelac."

"Lazuli Aeducan."

"And what is your intention?" He asks merely for legality sake, and the humor in his tone is not lost on either of them.

"Marriage." They say in unison.

"Have your families consented to this union?"

"They have."

The Lord Shaper winks at them as he pulls out the marriage document and places it before them. "Should you choose to sign this document, you swear fealty to one another. You pledge your lives, your love, and your sacred honor. If these terms are agreeable, bind yourselves together before these many witnesses."

Gorim signs first, as is the custom, and then Lazuli, her script much neater and flourished than his. She hears him chuckle at the sight of it, upon her returning the quill pen.

"It is my great honor to announce these two married. May the Ancestors smile upon their union and bless them with many happy and prosperous years."

If it were possible for the throng to grow any louder, they do so, congratulation and well wishes sent up so far, the sky could open up before them and no one would be surprised. Gorim takes his bride by the waist and places a kiss on her lips, as the two of them nearly go deaf. Then they clasp hands and walk back towards their families, a flurry of excited squeals and celebratory wishes fly all around them, as Dahlia hugs Lazuli and Bhelen shakes Gorim's hand. Endrin stands with Nuvran glancing at one another with bittersweet smiles and small bouts of chuckling, until their children approach them. Laz let's Nuvran engulf her in a hug so tight he lifts her off the floor, while Endrin issues mild threats to Gorim.

Once their families have received them, they are presented to the noble houses of the Assembly, every dysher approaches with their approval of the union. The first is Lord Harrowmont, then Lord Dace, Lady Helmi, and Lord Meino. So, on and so on, until all of the major noble houses have cycled through, and the couple is led to the Royal Palace, wherein the banquet of fine foods is served. They are the last to arrive and first to be seated, many of the nobles have taken this time, while the couple was receiving nobles, to negotiate and gossip. Weddings are an ideal time to play at politics, with everyone present, fattened with food and drink.

By the time the feast is over, the nightly festivities have already begun, music and drinking abound. Lazuli easily spots several Noble Hunters begin their attempts to schmooze the nobility, but doesn't allow their presence to dampen her mood as she and Gorim initiate their first dance. Nobles attempting to give the couple space enough to dance push back until squished enough to provide them room, their music begins an ancient ballad dating back to the old days of the empire.

Laz smiles brilliantly at Gorim as he takes her in his arms and does his best attempt at the traditional dance. Lifting her up and twirling her as the song swells and falls in rhythm, she thinks he's perfect and once the song has ended she takes his lips with hers. And thus, the dancing begins, as is the custom she takes a whirl with both her brother and her father, then Gorim's father and brothers before any noble can claim her for a dance.

Gorim stands to the side, still blushing and terribly embarrassed by his own spin around the dance floor, instead he drinks with several of his friends, all wishing him well for the night to come. Just as Laz is about to approach him, Lord Harrowmont asks for dance, to which she cannot rightly deny him.

"I have not seen such jubilation since Lord Dougland's son got married last year." He comments as the song begins.

"Nor I in recent memory. I am very fortunate."

"Yes, very. How is your health, Lazuli? Your father is quite worried with all the commotion you may suffer another spell."

"I am very well actually thank you for your concern." She says so with a sharpness to her tone, all day she has avoided thoughts of her affliction. Afraid that the very mention of it would send her into a vicious attack.

"I am happy to hear it, my lady."

"I am glad that my father's health has held up during today's festivities myself."

"As am I, that is precisely what I intended to speak to you about." He says so firmly.

"Oh?"

"Yes, I believe your brother may have something to do with your father's failing health."

She would not be surprised either, only for some reason she feels the need to mention. "My father is not a young man, my lord. And he has suffered great losses as of late, it is no wonder he has begun to decline."

"Yes, a perfect distraction if you ask me." He says with a glimmer in his eye. "The people are talking, ecstatic to see you in such good spirits, and with your sanity intact. While it is true others have made comments on your marriage partner, many are simply overjoyed by your appearance today."

"What are you saying?" She asks.

"I am saying that many are still convinced you are the rightful heir to the throne."

"No." She says firmly.

"You would make a fine queen, my lady."

"I do not wish to be a queen, I never have."

"The people want you, and if your people demand it, then your duty is first to them."

She bites down a snarl as she says, "Sir, I've no intention of ruling anybody, I ask you keep me out of your petty politics."

"Even if it means finding Caridin?" She nearly stalls at the mention of the name, but he continues. "I found your notes in the shaperate the other day, an excellent find you've made. Should your father meet his end, and you become queen, we could find him and his anvil."

She looks at him with awe, but finally manages to say. "Bhelen would slit my throat first."

"He might, but you are now married to his second."

"He does not care for relation."

"No but he may be at his most vulnerable. Do consider what I've said."

"I'm not certain I should." She says wearily as the song ends. The two bow to one another and go their separate ways, he back into the crowd, and she toward her new husband.

The night ends with little other ceremony, though she does manage to coerce Gorim into dancing with her a hand full more times. The final stage of the marriage ceremony starts at the door to their new home, decorated with written well wishes stuck every which way, garland strung about, and flowers stuck in every empty space until the front entrance is solid with rarities.

Gorim is presented with the ceremonial shoes, and she is given a pair as well. Gorim kneels before her as she takes off her original slippers, allowing him to help her into these new ones. She repeats the process for him, and the two are officially bound, with new shoes to enter their shared home and begin their shared lives. With this ceremony complete they seal their marriage with a kiss before departing into their new home.

"That was a very long day." Gorim chuckles the moment the door is closed behind them and they have wandered up to their bedroom. Their bedroom, Lazuli still can't believe that this is their life now, this home and this bed, all of it is theirs.

"It was, but it's still ours."

He smiles at her, grasping her jaw and taking her lips hungrily, the two lock in a kiss until he dares to pull back and ask, "How is-"

"Non-existent, as far as I am concerned. So come, let us take full advantage of the opportunity." She teases him lightly, practically begging for him to take her as his wife. Once given this consent he does as he's bid and the two lie together for the first time bound as one.


	11. Imogen

**With the Arl still failing to regain consciousness, the Wardens set out on quest to save him. In doing so waking an old legend and coming face to face with an ill-fated foe. They fight their way through hordes of fallen cultists searching for the mythical Temple of Sacred Ashes, and as is their duty to the people of Ferelden.**

Imogen recognizes that she may be putting herself too far into her work, the reason being she feels personally affected by every bit of information she collects. Rumors that Highever was defended single handedly by a mad woman, send her into a tailspin of confusion. Hearing that Queen Anora is merely a distraction, a veil Loghain can hide behind, her thoughts run wild with horrific fantasies of what this means for the Alienage.

Every week since leaving her childhood home she has returned to them, coin in hand and gossip to spread. Informing them of the happenings within the palace has so far led to very radical theories as to Loghain's plans for her kin.

Valendrian tries to quell the panic quickly rising in her heart every time she unloads a weeks' worth of information, but he is never fully successful. These are clearly dangerous times, rumors of a blight spreading like plague, and Loghain instigating a civil war. There is supposedly fighting in the south, fighting in the north, and all across the Bannorn. Still somehow, this King-Regent has found the time to plot against the elves in his own city, as if they are an issue he must attend to immediately. As if her people are an issue at all, the idea boils her blood.

Yet everyday she wakes up at the crack of dawn, laces up her boots, and walks proudly into the palace to clean up after those void taken men. Pigs the lot of them, deeming her lesser than themselves, naming her kind lower than dirt when she sees the blood and muck they track into these halls. She hates them and she hates all they stand for.

She scrubs floors and polishes silver, all the while listening to them speak of people and places they do not even begin to understand. The way they speak of soldiers as if they are merely numbers, how they act as if they alone rule the entire world.

Her she is on her hands and knees, while they alone plot the lives of those they have never even bothered to consider.

"Not a single person will miss them."

"While I agree sir, there may be outrage when servants have restricted access."

"More jobs for humans." She stops her scrubbing at the words, taking every ounce of strength, she fights the urge to rush into the nearby room and slaughter them.

"Still, some have grown quite attached to their elven servers."

"Those who matter live outside of the Alienage and will be left out of this." Her heart stalls at the mention of the Alienage. Those bastards have been plotting something against her people, sickness rises in her throat, but she remains diligent in her work. Whatever they're planning she must know, she needs to warn the Alienage.

"And you suspect no one will be asking questions?"

"Nobody who has a will to live." Imogen weighs the cost of her own life as he continues. "I have already sent word, they'll set up shop by the end of the week I suspect."

She stands abruptly, leaving her work behind and rushes down to the housekeeper, hurriedly tells her she feels unwell, before racing out into the busy city streets without waiting to hear a reply. Heartbeat thunderously loud in her chest, she sprints around crowds of people and into the Alienage. Nothing good can come from this, nothing good ever comes from shems anyway, and now she knows for certain her people are being targeted.

Shianni spots her cousin easily, the disheveled appearance and wide fearful eyes having caught her attention. Imogen clutches her cousin in a fierce hug, this startles the red head more than seeing her cousin in the middle of the day.

"Imogen, what's wrong?" She asks, still crushed in her embrace.

"Shianni, where is my father? Valendrian? Soris? Someone-"

"Slow down." Shianni puts a gentle hand on one side of Imogen's face before guiding her towards her childhood home. Closing the door swiftly behind them, Shianni takes her cousin to the kitchen table. "Soris and your father are at work right now. Valendrian is busy with the new orphanage. What has you so worked up?"

Imogen swallows thickly garnering the courage to speak. "The shems are planning something horrible for the Alienage. What it is exactly I'm not certain, but the way they spoke of it, can only be horrible things."

Shianni's gaze turns harsh, "What do you know?" Imogen relays the conversation she heard, the words still verbatim in her mind. Her cousin's face falls between anger, fear, before settling on calculative.

"Shianni, I have to warn Valendrian and my father."

"I will fetch them as soon as the work day draws to a close-"

"Listen to me, whatever is coming will be devastating."

"And if I go now, it will raise suspicion. Please tell me you've been safe while working in the palace." The cousins stare at one another with intense desperation, pleading the other to heed them.

"I have, just as I swore I would." Imogen does not divulge how today she acted the part of a mad woman. Instead she allows Shianni to wrap her up in a tight embrace.

"Thank the Maker." She mumbles.

"Promise me, should anything change in the Alienage you will not go anywhere near it. You will keep yourself safe."

Shianni shakes her head, "Your words make it sound as if you have never met me."

"I-"

"I haven't been the same since… that night, but seeing you do as you have done. I have regained a part of me, and I will not be silenced again."

Imogen grips her cousin's arms, "Shianni-"

Tearfully she says, "If it weren't for me, you and Nelaros would be married, happy even. Valora is pregnant now, if I had just been able to keep my stupid mouth shut, maybe you could have been too."

"Enough, I'll hear no more of this." Imogen grabs Shianni's jaw and holds her gaze. "What is done is done. Whatever could have been is not now, Nelaros is dead, and I… I don't know what I am, but I know what I can do. I can help keep you and the rest of our family safe. Stop blaming yourself, and put the blame where it rightfully belongs, the shoulders of the shems who put us here."

Crying still Shianni shakes her head, "All of this is my fault."

"Banish the thought."

"Soris has found such happiness in his marriage, Imogen, he's so excited about starting a family… I know that given the chance you could have too."

"I said stop this, we will never know a life we do not have… And besides, could you imagine me with child anyway?" Imogen lets out a stale laugh, "Whatever this path I've been put upon is, the Maker carved it for me. Never doubt that."

The two women sit in silence both contemplating when their lives became such a clustered mess of politics and criminality. If the Maker has a plan must he be so coy and cruel in getting them to their destinations? Above all else, why them? Why must they suffer so much? What is the outcome of this?

The sun begins to sink in the sky and as such Shianni leaves to find the others Imogen intends to warn, leaving her alone in her childhood home. Having spent so much time aboard a ship and in The Pearl, she recognizes how dingy this home is. Yet she still feels safe inside of these textured walls and dirt packed floors, eyes sharply catching all of the familiarities she grew up around.

The uneven floorboards closest to the fireplace, the hooks hammered into the walls which look near falling out, the cracks in the ceiling which leak during rainy season. Yes, she would not call this place perfect, but this is her home, it always will be her home. She realizes that for the first time in a long time she does not feel on edge being in the Alienage, this is her sanctuary.

Her father rushes in immediately taking her up in his arms and squeezing her to his chest. "Thank the Maker you're alright. I heard rumors about one of the castle servants drawing attention from the guard and I thought for certain you were caught."

"I am safe, it is you I fear for now." She says turning her attention towards Soris and Valendrian. Shianni closes the door behind them before Imogen begins to relay her tale.

The men take this information well, before long, Imogen feels the panic growing inside of her gut. Her father and Valendrian sit at the kitchen table, while Soris stands beside the bed frame. Shianni has begun to cook dinner over by the fire. Were things less frightening this scene may look simple, common folk doing common things. Nothing about this situation is common however, and a dark cloud seems to hang over their heads.

"Are you certain you wish to remain here?" Her father asks as soon as she's spoken.

"What does that have to do with anything?"

"Soris is-"

"I can tell her." Soris steps forward. "My wife is expecting a child, and we are moving to Highever."

"What? Why? Highever was attacked just recently." Imogen speaks rapidly in her surprise.

"Yes, and they need help rebuilding. It's safer there, Imogen." Soris puts his hands on her shoulders.

"I have also thought of going with them." Her father says gently hand running along his chin in thought.

"Papa-"

"I want you to come with me, Imogen. Please, if things are truly going downhill here, we must leave while we still can."

"Shianni?" Imogen looks to her cousin.

"I won't leave right away," Shianni stops stirring the soup to look at her cousin. "I have already sworn to help Valendrian with whatever you have warned us of. But I too plan on leaving." Imogen stares at the people before her, already defeated against this unknown fight.

She grinds her teeth, "We can't just leave, people need our help."

"Why does it always have to be us!?" Her father smacks the table, the sounds vibrating throughout the room. "Why you? Why Adaia? Why should any of us fight for a city that doesn't give a shit about us!? Come home, Imogen, please."

She looks at him with a furrowed brow and a shake of the head. "If I stop now, who else will look after our people!? Who else will look out for us? If I drop this now, any hope that we have to combat his attack on our people is gone."

"Let someone else do it for once!" Her father towers over her, anger and resentment plain in his gaze. "Please, let someone else die for this cause, I can't take it! I want to grow old, Imogen, I want to watch you marry and have children."

"Why would I ever bring children into this world when there is so much left to fight for?" She snarls, seeing Soris press his mouth into a firm line she continues. "Nobody else wants to fight, look around you, every one of you is already defeated. I refuse to be. I would gladly give my last breath so that you can live your happy little lives."

"Happy?! You think we're happy!?" Soris shouts at her, "Beatings, raids, kidnappings. You haven't been gone long enough to forget these things."

"I lived them you arse!" She returns his tone if not doubling her rage. "I've seen rape, I've seen kidnappings and raids, executions even, I've seen it all. Just the other day my employer tried to pin me down and have his way with me in a back alley. Yet I did not let him, I survived it. Where you give up I fight back!"

"I was with you when we saved Shianni and the rest, cousin. It would do you well to remember that."

"And here we are, you living your pretty little life, with your bride and child. What did I get out of it?"

"Imogen that is enough." Valendrian says firmly stepping between the two cousins. Soris both enraged and now saddened. "I will not tell you to go or stay, but I agree that you should remove yourself from the palace employ, it's too dangerous."

"This is not about that." She argues, "Not any more. I will not let what happened to Nelaros happen to anyone else, Loghain will slaughter our kind and sweep us under the rug if we let him. I for one will not let that happen."

"We leave at the end of the week cousin. Should you choose to come is of your own volition, but consider your father." Soris walks past her and out of the house, door crashing back into the latch as he goes.

Shianni has stopped cooking, hand on her forehead as she looks between the three other elves. Imogen locks eyes with her and the two share a conversation without words.

"Imogen, I am begging you, please consider coming with us." Her father has started crying, and she can't bear the thought that she has been the cause of it.

"I-… will consider it." She says, voice so small and timid she fears he may not hear her. When his eyes light up with thanks, her hands place a small bag of coin on the table before her. "I must be off, I will return with my answer by the end of the week."

"I love you, Imogen. I only want what's best for you." Her father says before crushing her to his chest.

"I love you, papa." She says voice still mousey and unlike herself. She hugs Shianni and hurries back into the night back towards the Gnawed Noble to meet with her employer. He stands where he always does, in the shadow of the building.

"You're late." He says harshly. She tells him his information quickly, ready to run should his hand wander too far once again. Yet he doesn't instead he smiles at her and says, "Now what will I do if my little whore can't get out of the Alienage?" His hand reaches for her, and immediately she unsheathes her dagger.

"Say it again, call me a whore one more time, shem I dare you."

"Touchy today." He laughs, "You won't kill me, you need my money."

"You overestimate your monetary value." She says.

He grabs her wrist and twists her around, "You know better."

Imogen uses her other hand to grab his head and pushes him back into the nearest wall. Eyes burning with rage she gets out of his grip and turns her blade back on him. She does not hesitate to slit his throat, a growl reverberating in her chest, watching his blood pour out and onto her maids uniform makes her feel alive. The thought sends her backing away from him, snarl still on her tongue. The shem deserved it she thinks before rummaging through his pockets.

She slips away from the body and hurries towards the Pearl, rage and heaviness so full in her chest she feels like she cannot breathe. Approaching Isabela with a furry in her eye, she leans down to the pirate and kisses her harshly.

"Hm, slow down there, you seem to have had a long day."

"I don't want to talk, I want to fuck." She says roughly.

"Oh? You aren't usually so forward."

"Andraste's tits woman. Shut up."

"I don't think I will, you need to calm down." Isabela's voice is stern, with a bite all its own.

"I killed a man, just a little while ago. Loghain wants to destroy my people, and family wants me to run away to be someone's pretty little bride. I'll not be calming down anytime soon."

Isabela's tongue presses the inside of her cheek, nodding mutely. She stands up and calls out for Sanga, who approaches the table near immediately.

"The lady has had a rough day and has coin to spare." Isabela smirks at Imogen, "Get her some equipment and your most loyal submissive."

Imogen rolls her eyes as the woman walks back towards the bedrooms. "So, your solution is a penis?"

"You need to be in control of something… and I'm sure someone will do the trick nicely."

"You're sick."

"That's funny coming from a murderer."

"The man deserved it."

"I do not doubt it." Isabela chuckles, "Now go wind down, you need it."

Despite her better judgement, Imogen listens to her friend and follows the barmaid back towards the bedchambers.


	12. Georgiana

**The Arl is cured of his ailment, once again the Wardens seem to have performed an impossible feat. With this success in hand they continue on their journey of recruitment, towards the Dalish encampment.**

When she first talked over the idea of allowing elves into the guard, Gigi knew that there would be backlash from the nobles. Those actually in the guard seem glad to have more help and could not have cared less where it comes from. In fact, she took the time to ask the guards she happened upon what their position on elves joining the guard was. Every one of them told her the same thing, they're so short of trained men that any hands will do.

What she does not expect is to be greeted by the Bann of Highever waltzing into her office unannounced, angrily huffing at her.

"My ladyship, might I have a word?" He demands hotly.

She stares at his disheveled appearance in shock for a moment before speaking, "Would you like to take a seat?"

"No, my ladyship, I would not." He says walking up to her desk, "What in Andraste's name are you thinking!?"

"I beg your pardon?"

"Allowing elves to join the guard!? We'll be the laughingstock of Ferelden."

"I'm sorry, my lord, but  _that_ is what this is about?" She asks still incredulous to his being in her office, late at night, shouting at her.

"Clearly." He says indignantly, "I hardly believed my ears when the servants gossiped about it, but the people are just aghast. Your father has hardly been dead a month, Maker rest his soul, and already you have begun to make questionable decisions."

Her heart lurches in her chest at the mention of her father, but is quickly replaced with sheer anger. She stands before him, eyes wicked and steeled as she speaks. "If my decision is so questionable, tell me where I shall be getting one hundred new guardsmen otherwise. Point me to even, twenty and I'd be overcome with joy."

"The families of Highever-"

"Do not want to lose any more of their sons than they already have. And frankly I cannot blame them. We live in desperate times, my lord, and I for one will not endanger my people when there are some still willing to defend their home."

"We should ask for help from the surrounding villages, have them-"

She raises a hand to him halting his speech, "I sent such letters to be read in each town in a hundred-mile radius. Between the losses at Ostagar and the battle fought on my own front door, none have stepped forward to join."

He looks at her skeptically, "That's impossible."

She pulls out several parchments in which contain reports on those journeys, and how every one of them claims no man stepped forward. "Those elves call Highever home as well, they have the right to defend her as any other."

"No action like this has been done in any other province."

"Then we shall act as the first."

"What will people think?"

"The people see this for what it is." She fights to keep her voice even, as the Bann raises his own.

"And what exactly is this, my ladyship?"

She shakes her head, "These are desperate times, my lord. We cannot allow prejudice to keep us blinded to that."

"Desperate how?" He dares to ask.

"I have just received word that the Arl of Redcliff may being lying on his death bed. A blight is coming, and there are many who believe the Grey Wardens to be traitors. Our King is dead and his Queen continues to drag her feet when it comes to facing her father's tyrannical regime."

"Be careful, my ladyship, how you speak of the King-Regent." The Bann says lowering his voice.

"Last I checked, Loghain and I are equals. It would do you well to remember that, despite what you  _think,_ I am doing what is best for the Teyrn. Having a standing army is included in that."

"I disagree."

She walks back to her desk, "Were you me, what would you do? Allow the Teyrn to remain without proper defense?"

"I would hold a draft." He pounds her desk with a fist.

"I will not rip people from their homes, when citizens are willing to volunteer themselves." She lashes out, voice sharp as the crack of a whip.

"They are not citizens, they are elves."

"Your prejudice is obviously not mine sir."

"Your father-"

"My father was a great man, who taught me that the elves did nothing but be born into their lot in life. That we should always extend our kindnesses to them, and above all he taught me that duty comes before anything else. Sir, my duty is to protect  _my_ people, I will not have you undermining me! Calling my decisions 'questionable' when you know not what I have done to solve these problems!"

She can no longer fight the waiver in her voice as she continues, "Yes, while you slept soundly in your bed I fought to save my family and preserve your precious way of life. Who knows what Howe would have done to the Teyrn had I not stopped his forces. I lost my father and two thirds of my army, my brother is gone and so are the forces he brought with him. My hands are tied in this case, I have done all that I can and I ask you bite your tongue before insulting me."

The Bann shakes his head ruefully, "You still have so much to learn."

"Yet no time to do it in, unfortunately." She says, she knows she should not raise her voice, knows she should not want to cry right now. However, this man has barged into her office and berated her for something so unworthy of anger. Tired and frustrated, she has no choice but to look at him and say, "Please my lord, what's done is done. My new recruits begin training tomorrow and I do not want any trouble. The world is already falling apart, let us not contend further tonight."

"My ladyship, I believe you are making a mistake."

"My lord, I do not care for what you believe." The two stare intensely at one another, tension thick between them, she speaks to break the silence. "If you wish to stay the night, I will have one of the servants set up a guest room for you. Otherwise I suggest you leave now."

"I will be back tomorrow to discuss this further." He says lowly, glaring at her once more before leaving the room, she does not bother to file away the paper's she had torn out in order to prove her point. She instead leaves them on her desk, snuffs out the candles and storms out of the office, eyes glossing with unshed tears.

Rosco looks up from his pillow by the fire once she enters her bedroom. Slamming the door behind herself she finally lets hot tears roll down her cheeks. Angrily tugging her clothing off she gasps for breath, when will she stop feeling so damn emotional all the time? She pulls on a nightdress and crawls into bed, Rosco jumping up to join her.

Curling up to her dog like some might a lover, she weeps into his coat, tired and upset at the happenings of the day. It is one thing to have one's morals called into question, it is another entirely to have ones morals called into question whilst having their leadership insulted. She feels burned, like she did nothing to satisfy his arguments or even prove her own point, her whole body feels swelteringly hot.

After a restless night of sleep, Gigi finds herself sat in front of her bedroom vanity, tired eyes staring back at her. She feels mildly ill and in her own mind she reprimands herself for being so sensitive, she has no time to act this way. Yet she makes no attempt to move from where she sits, instead she continues to tear herself down in her mind.

With Rosco's head resting in her lap, she screams at herself internally, that she should have kept her wits about her, mother taught her better. Father raised her better than to blow up at every person who doubts her abilities and disagrees with her morals. Maker, she's made a fool of herself.

"Georgiana?" The voice of Sir Gilmore breaks her thought process. "What are you still doing in your nightclothes? It is very nearly noon."

She makes no attempt to turn towards him, only uses his words as fodder to continue tearing herself down.

"Georgiana, can you hear me?" He closes the door behind himself. "Gigi, are you alright?" He asks once more approaching her vanity.

Tears begin again in earnest and all she can manage is an apology, "I'm so sorry."

"For what, Gigi, what is this about? Are you ill?" He kneels to her level, running his hands up and down her arms.

"I'm sorry, I've made such a dismal leader, Sir Gilmore."

"What are you talking about? You've made a fine leader; your men have nothing but good things to say about you." His concern only grows when she falls into his unprepared arms, nothing but a mess of tears. "Maker, when was the last time you slept properly?"

"I-I-I-…" She gulps down air, realizing she cannot recall the last time someone held her. She misses her father, her mother, her brother, all she wants is to go to bed feeling safe again. Why doesn't she feel safe under her own bloody rule?

"Look at me, did you sleep at all last night?" He pulls away enough to lock eyes with her. He has never seen her so distressed.

"Hardly." She admits feebly.

"You need your rest."

"I can't, when the world is falling apart." She protests.

"It is not your job to save the world."

"No, it shouldn't be, I can hardly save the Teyrn."

"Stop this, right now." He demands, "I haven't the faintest idea why you seem to think you've failed in any capacity, but you couldn't be more wrong. You saved your nephew, mother, a third of the army-"

"It wasn't enough."

"It never is, but your father trusted you more than anyone, loved you so fiercely. You cannot tell me he was wrong about that." She shakes her head at his words. "You haven't had the proper time to mourn, for that I am so sorry, I wish people could stop telling you to be strong. But Gigi, you have to at the very least take care of yourself. Whether or not you believe me, that you have done a fine job as Teyrna, you must keep your health."

She stares at him searching his eyes for insincerity, when she finds none her heart slows. Rosco's breath hot on leg as he remains by her side, she finally breaks whatever spell of depression holds her.

Wiping her eyes, she speaks, "Then I suppose I should change, have the new recruits arrived yet?"

"Not yet, but I'm hardly concerned about that now." He says, "I fear for you my friend, please know that you have not lost everything. I am sorry that you have been neglected during all of this."

"I am sorry to have been so selfish, Sir Gilmore."

"No, you're not selfish." He assures her.

"I should change and see if the kitchens could spare me a meal."

Sir Gilmore looks at her nearly incredulous, "Would you consider resting for the day?"

"Oh no, my mother and Oren are returning in a few days, I have much to attend to." She dismisses him.

"Be careful, Gigi."

"I will, thank you." He leaves hesitantly as Georgiana collects herself. Once dressed she heads to the kitchens and then the training yard, Rosco dutifully following behind her all the way. Between the mabari and Sir Gilmore she feels the weight of being watched for the rest of the day.

She watches the new recruits begin their training, then hurries to prepare for her family's return. All the while anxious with the thought of the Bann returning to her office, runs through a million different scenarios in her head to help him see reason, until he does eventually come, and she resigns herself. Knowing he will never hear her out she stops him before he can begin.

"Sir, I know what you are going to say." She says looking up from the parchment she had just begun to read. "And let me be as concise and plain as I can be. When I looked for help in the places you have suggested, I was met with nothing, so I sought help that I could gain. Aside from that, whether you like it or not, be it my age or my inexperience, I do not care. I will not tolerate the way I was treated last night ever again, I am Teyrna, our feelings on the matter are unimportant. I suggest you learn to live with it, or you find someone else to take up your position."

He looks at her with wide eyes, "My lady Cousland, you have quite the gall."

"I inherited it from my father."

He sighs, "I will not apologize for my actions yesterday, those are my beliefs. But I do see why you have done what you have…"

"And?"

"And I ask that you keep the majority of those elves out of the guard duty in town."

"I will assign them only to the Alienage should the need arise." She states.

"That will do, the people will not respond well to this."

"And I will deal with that as need arises. Is there anything else, sir?" The man stares at her harshly, anger clearly still inside of him.

"I hope you know what you're doing, my lady."

"That makes two of us."

"I wish you luck, and good day." He bows curtly and leaves without another word. Rosco is up and at her side the moment he's gone, having sensed his master's distress.

"I'm all right boy." She smiles as he licks at her hand. The dog stays at her side, nuzzling her leg and licking her hand when it drops near enough to him. She hardly feels victorious, but she takes this moment as such, deciding that were she to dwell any further she may lose her mind again. She cannot afford that.


	13. Lazuli

**The Wardens are faced with yet another challenge, the Elves overrun by tragedy, Flynn is fast to come to their aide. The others follow albeit warily, and soon they are faced with the choice between Elves and Werewolves. Once again, it is Flynn who stands between them, ready and able to negotiate terms with either side, and with a stroke of luck they are able to end their trial peacefully.**

Marriage treats Lazuli well, she finds herself feeling lighter, happier even. She still spends the majority of her time in the shaperate, all of her research focused on Caridin, his life and the empire he once knew. She has come upon precious little, though finds that he donated many of his own personal works to the Aeducan family, and that he spent much of his life in service to the Aeducan's personally. While interesting this does not help her at all.

On the days that pain strikes, she hobbles back to bed, and lays in the dim darkness until Gorim returns. Offering warm soup and gentle kisses, he usually arrives long after the worst of the pain has past. Though she cannot say if the pains have lessened or not in these passed weeks, at least not honestly, as her mind has been elsewhere as of very recently.

Endrin's health has taken a drastic turn for the worst, the past two days he has taken to bed, hardly able to move let alone rule. All of Orzammar is left holding its breath as their beloved king lies on what seems to most, to be his death bed. Every day, Laz walks to the palace, takes up her station by her father's bedside and reads, either aloud or quietly. Lord Harrowmont and her brother come and go, but she remains by his side ever vigilant.

She takes the same walk as always up to the palace, only to be greeted by chaos, the halls filled with deshyrs all milling about anxiously. Laz pays them no mind, weaving in and out of the crowd she steps into the living quarters, while much calmer there is still an air of anxiety. Approaching the guards as she always does, manages to throw her off course.

"King Endrin is not taking visitors at this time, my lady." The guard says with a bow.

"I'm no visitor, I am his daughter." She says sharply.

"He is speaking with his political advisors."

"You say that as if I should care."

"I am sorry my lady, you will be informed as soon as they have conducted their business."

With a huff she turns and walks back down the corridor, lacking the energy and will to fight today, she heads towards her old bedroom, hoping to find peace and quiet. Only she finds neither, instead she sees the redheaded casteless girl who has stolen some part or another of Bhelen's.

"Y-your highness." She scrambles to stand, and curtsies awkwardly. Laz eyes her lightly as she does this. "I did not know you would be here otherwise I would have left, I am deeply sorry."

"Why are you in my old quarters."

"Uh-uh…" She seems at a loss for words.

"Well?"

"Your brother- Prince Bhelen takes residence here now, your highness."

Lazuli shakes her head, "Of course he has."

"I-…. Uh." The casteless girl opens her mouth and then promptly closes it again.

"Spit it out girl."

"Forgive me, your highness, but would it be improper of me to ask what you are doing here?"

"It would, considering the circumstances."

"I apologize, your-"

"My brother seems to be monopolizing my father's death bed. I can't say that I'm entirely surprised." She says easily, gliding across the floor towards the girl, shocked to find how similar they appear, comparable red hair and soft features. Honestly, the realization makes Laz's skin crawl with discomfort, her brother sleeping with a woman even remotely similar to her. "And I suppose you are waiting to keep him company?"

"I-… Yes, your highness."

"Even though you are already carrying his child?" The casteless girl takes a step back, eyes wide and frightened. "Stop this, I am not going to harm you, or have you thrown out. If I were I'd have done so by now."

"How did you know?"

"I'm ill, not stupid." Laz folds her arms over her chest, eyeing the girl as she squirms under the intense scrutiny.

"I haven't said anything, to anyone yet."

"And he hasn't noticed, just like the little brat." She sighs, eyes falling to the floor, "You really should learn to buck up if you intend to bear my brother a son. You'll face nothing but prejudice and cruelty in the courts."

The casteless girl takes in a sharp breath, "I… know that."

"Tell me your name."

"Rica, Your Highness."

Nodding Laz sighs, "I don't know how you endure my brother, even if it is for the rise in caste."

"Oh no, I… I don't know if I should be speaking of this." Rica blushes as bright as her hair before speaking, "Your brother, the prince, is a kind wonderful man."

Lazuli laughs loudly at her words, "We do not know the same man."

"I understand your position-"

"Do you?" She asks wickedly, "How?"

"He knows his methods are questionable."

"At best." Lazuli inserts her comment.

"But at the heart of it all, he wants only the best for all of Orzammar." She smiles dreamily, still just as love struck as she must have been upon their first meeting.

"And that includes killing his older siblings?" Laz narrows her eyes.

"I did not mean… I am sorry." Rica speaks quickly, "He loves you, your highness, he does. He feels so guilty for what has happened to you, he wept to me nearly every day about the misfortune."

"Yes, the misfortune he caused."

"I know… I know how horrible he seems, but at his heart-"

"It matters not what is at his heart, if getting there requires you to wade through the vileness of a sodding darkspawn." Rica bites her lips, holding back a severe comment, and Lazuli would be lying if she didn't admit to being intrigued by that. Smirking she says, "Out with it, tell me why I'm wrong."

"He's been nothing but kind to me, and I can only speak from what I know to be true. He is a man with conviction, believes that the end justifies the means, and yes when he sees fault, even in his own family, he doesn't hesitate to act. Everything you said is true of him, but you did not see him the night he made those decisions. Did not watch him struggle to weigh the consequences of his actions, yet he made those sacrifices anyway. And he loves, highness, he loves you and I just as much albeit differently."

"You say he made sacrifices? What does he care of losing Trian?"

"Prince Trian was Bhelen's brother as much as he was yours." She says, eyes showing a struggle between anger and fear of the princess. "The grievances he held against Trian were justified, and he knew that Orzammar deserved a better leader."

"What was his fault with me in that case?"

Rica takes in a sharp breath, "He took not fault with you-"

"So, I was just a casualty in the war no one else intended to fight? Perfect."

"He-"

"He got his wish, Trian dead and getting away with it, but now he has to live with the consequences." Lazuli places a tentative hand on the back on her head, where the pain is beginning to form. Not now, she thinks desperately.

"Nobody hates watching you suffer so, than he, believe me highness."

"As he should." She says cruelly. "Yet I do not see him writhing in pain every day or so."

"You don't understand."

"No, I suppose I don't." Already so weak, she sits on her old bed, running her hand through the locks of her hair. The pain has yet to grow, but she knows it will, she has given up fighting back, there's simply no use.

"Your brother came to me, the night you returned from the deep roads." She says softly taking a seat beside her princess, "He came to my small little home in the slums of dust town, tears in his eyes because he could not stand to hear your screams. Told me of how desperate your now husband seemed to calm you, but nothing worked. Bhelen watched the life drain out of the king that night, says that life has never returned."

"Why are you telling me this?" Lazuli turns her head slowly to look at the girl, voice soft and scared. How quickly her skull feels to break. Ancestors, why does she have to endure this?

"Because every day he lives with the decision he made, and bit by bit it is destroying him. He still admires you greatly highness, does not know how you have managed to survive so long with such a distressing ailment. Quite nearly jealous even, he wishes to possess half the strength that you do."

Unable to bear the pain anymore, Lazuli doubles over, tears readily pouring from her eyes as she grips the sides of her head. Desperately heaving for air, she feels the bed move, she assumes that Rica has jumped to her feet in shock. Nearly jumping out of her skin when instead she feels a gentle arm wrap around her shoulders and a surprisingly soft hand slip into hers.

Wordlessly, Rica helps her stand and when Laz nearly collapses, the casteless girl catches her with ease. Seeming practiced in the delicate art of caring for someone incapacitated, just as Lazuli attempts to ponder this she is struck with a violent strike of pain, hissing in response.

Balanced between her own feet and the support of Rica's, the two manage to leave the palace through the servants quarters.

"Do you need a moments rest, highness?" Rica asks.

Tearfully and voice trembling Laz mutters, "Just take me home."

The casteless girl runs her thumb along the back of Lazuli's hand, gently guiding her home, whispering soft words of encouragement. Once they arrive to their destination, Rica continues to guide the princess through the house and up to her bedroom. Laying her in bed she sets to work, fetching water and a cool cloth to rest upon her forehead.

Lazuli attempts to curl up, to hid away from the girl taking care of her. Embarrassment burning her cheeks at the idea of yet another person being exposed to her affliction. Just one more person who will eye her wearily every time she so much as leaves the house, and this person happens to be pregnant with her niece or nephew.

"Stop hiding." Rica's voice is firm, "I've seen worse than this, and you should not feel ashamed in your own home."

Glassy eyes locking with those opposite hers, so grey they remind her of finely polished steel. As hard as those eyes appear, there is a tender softness to her as well, Rica tends to the princess until she can do no more. After asking several times if she requires anything else, she takes her leave, backing out of the dim room.

Once again, Lazuli is left alone, to cry and writhe at the hands of her affliction, riding each wave of pain gracelessly into the next. Eyes sore, throat parched but she dares not drink, for the pit in her stomach threatens to morph into nausea, as it has in the past a rare few times.

Too much time passes before she is left in ruins of herself, yet again, too much residual soreness leaves her limp in bed. She hates so furiously what has become of her she almost doesn't hear her husband enter the room.

Gorim looks at her with such affectionate eyes she loses herself in their depths. "How are you faring?" He asks, voice low and gentle.

She takes his hand and squeezes it as hard as she can with the little strength she has. "A little sore, but otherwise, I'm content."

He lets the corners of his mouth tug slightly, leaning down to kiss her lips, hardly a kiss even more a brush. "Have you eaten?" He asks.

"A little about an hour ago." She closes her eyes as he stands upright, "How fares my father?" When he does not respond she attempts to shoot out of bed, only to be met with the ire of her sore muscles. Gorim lays his hands on her shoulder, pushing her back towards the pillows, she feels like iron sinking to the bottom of a lake.

"Rest, Lazuli, please."

"What of my father? Has he…" When Gorim does not answer she finds herself unable to cry, having spent all of her tears and energy on the splitting headache from earlier. Instead her chest fills with shaking breaths and releases in the same manner. "No…"

Gorim takes her in his arms and holds her close, shushing her in an attempt to keep her from losing her mind again. But that bastard Bhelen kept her away from her father's death bed, kept her from seeing her father in his last moments. Ancestors damn him, how could he do this to her? She feels her head go light, and know what's bound to come next.

The pain is so excruciating, so agonizing and whole, she faints before it can come to a climax.


	14. Imogen

**As time passes the Wardens have fallen into a strange sense of normal, going from camp to camp, traveling more often than not. Wesley and Leliana spending their time abed one another, cozied by the camp fire or sneaking off to share a bath in a nearby lake. Dear Flynn finds himself in the company of the Antivan elf for a time, their passions reserved only for their nighttime escapades. Then there is Oris, after many a quiet night begins to reveal himself slowly, with his quick wit and sharp comments her makes fast friend with the likes of Alistair, Shale, and the ever-incredulous Sten.**

Knowing that it is a terrible idea to return to the palace, Imogen opts instead to pick up more odds and ends jobs from her informant. Still uncertain of what she will do, leave to start over or remain and do whatever the fuck she can do to stop Loghain. How uncharacteristic of her, for a moment she recognizes this before realizing that at its core, helping those people is merely an excuse to get back at the shems.

At a loss and horrendously uncomfortable with all the happenings around her, Imogen barely notices how quickly time passes. Soon, it's the end of the week, her time to decide is up. Yet she remains caught up in her own head, trying to make sense of the human lords plans and her own. Walking around Denerim she keeps her head down, thoughts circling like a cyclone, what life is she destined to lead? What is the point of staying in Denerim without her father? What lies before her should she go to Highever?

The day is waning, time slipping out from underneath her, lost in thought and even more lost in the streets of Denerim she takes a moment to pause. All around her, sea air and city stench, more than enough noise to fill her soul up inside. How, in the middle of a city that hates her, where she is but a wanted criminal, can she find such peace? A moment of stillness despite the commotion around her, weak to the sounds of launders beating dust from rugs and soft sights of people going about their lives.

She imagines that this could be love, were this city a person, leaving here is wrong, but saying goodbye to her family while she still has breath inside of her is impossible. Eyes closing briefly, gaze falling to her boots she lets out a breath, somethings must come to an end, she supposes.

Walking back to the Alienage feels like defeat, a funeral march even. Heartbeat practically painful with each heavy step towards home, the city becomes a blur of cool colors before her. It'll rain tonight, she wonders if this will prevent the journey tomorrow.

Upon entering the Alienage, the streets are busy and cluttered, the work day over and a pending storm has people rushing about.

She walks towards her childhood home, Shianni and Valora are conversing just a few doors away. Imogen takes a moment to observe quietly, the women look worried and tired in their speech. Who isn't tired anymore? Who isn't afraid anymore? When did the world become so dark?

"Imogen." Valora smiles beckoning her to join the conversation. "Are you ready to leave tomorrow?"

"I-… Suppose so, yes." Imogen feels the lies leaking out of her asks she speaks.

"As am I, it should not more than a week, weather permitting." As Imogen glances over the woman before her she registers that there is a child within her, but the thought makes no significant impact like it almost isn't real. Can any of this be real? "And of course Shianni will be joining us as soon as this mess is all over."

"If it ends at all I will be grateful." Shianni says solemnly glancing at the dark sky above. "Let's go inside before the weather turns for the worse."

Imogen follows mutely, eyes glancing at her home once more, her father and Soris have already packed nearly all of their belongings already. All that remains are but a few blankets and some small cookery for their last night here, their last night home.

Valora and Shianni discuss alienage gossip amongst themselves, while Imogen recalls phantoms of her old life. Catches images of her younger self in the corner playing with her one and only doll, or hears the gentle chuckle of her father as she runs circles around him.

The thunder starts in earnest, loud and trembling, with wide eyes and soaked backs Cyrion and Soris rush in from the storm. Imogen feels a wet kiss press into the back of her head, but she remains stagnant, waiting for the world to fall around her. Catching Shianni's eye, she notices a sense of sadness hanging in the young woman's gaze, how can they condone leaving her behind like this? When she of all of them has suffered so much?

Screaming starts soon after the thunder, loud and bone chilling, the house falls into silence weary gazes passing between each individual. The screaming gets louder still, more voices mixing together in something gut retching. Fear engulfs the room, Soris and Imogen already standing as the sounds grow closer, passing distinctly worried gazes between them.

Cyrion looks out the window eyes wide and breath hitched in his chest he barely says, "Maker's Breath." Before the others are shocked into silence. "The Orphanage is being pillaged."

Soris and Imogen are out the door without a second thought and find the streets in utter chaos. The rain is delicate despite the thunder and distant lightning, but the alienage itself is bright alight with flames kissing the earth, skipping between dirt and dry grass. The source coming from the orphanage already consumed by flames, children who had managed to escape cry and cling to random men and women attempting to help the situation.

All the while, guardsmen rip through the area, trying to bring about order, but doing nothing to aid the fire. Anger full in her stomach, Imogen rushes forward hurrying towards the wreckage, manages to grab onto a woman clutching a crying child to her chest.

"What's happened?" She asks, Soris directly behind her.

"Some shem lords, drunken idiots, set the orphanage aflame. That's the only reason the guard is even here."

"Who's putting out the fire?" Soris asks, when the woman shakes her head, he pushes forward. "Imogen, get the crowd thinned help people home, I'll gather the men and get this put out."

The cousins nod at one another and set to work, Imogen rushing through the crowd and assigning children temporarily to different families, and escorting them home as quickly as possible. Soris manages to gather enough help to douse the flames before the building is destroyed in its entirety. Once the fire is gone, Imogen breathes a sigh of relief before continuing to aid those she comes across. Not knowing how to deal with injury even slightly, she directs them towards some sisters of the chantry who arrived as soon as the smoke plumed up into view of the whole city.

The guardsmen seem to be doing absolutely nothing and if her blood was not boiling before, it certainly is now. Eyes aflame she walks boldly to the men high and mighty in the shining armor, looking disgruntled by the weather and not the death of hundreds of people.

"Imogen, no." Soris grabs her wrist, the rain has stopped but her cousin is drenched and exhausted looking.

"I-"

"Don't do it, please." His eyes are so tired and heavy, she cannot deny him his request. Instead she follows him, guiding children and adults alike towards stores acting as safehouses.

"What a lovely little spot of chaos." She and Soris lock their gazes at the pompous heady voice. Turning their head's, they spot four noblemen, minor lords or not they have remained dry and drunk during their destruction. Rage does not describe how she feels inside, but Soris grips her hand begging her to stay put, stay calm. One glance at her cousin and she sees rage akin to her own.

"My lords, you are not welcome here." Valendrian says, voice even if not a bit tired.

"We're just assessing the damages, facilitator. Nothing more."

"Administrator, my lords. And I ask that you do so in the morning." Unintentionally Soris and Imogen have walked closer to the men, a crowd of angry elves stare at these men with a lethality, Imogen did not know her people could possess.

"Bah!" One of them swats, looking at the group that has gathered, Imogen notices the guardsmen who had been disinterestedly observing their chaos have begun to close in.

"We want nothing to do with you, leave us." One of the men in the crowd spits at the shems, vile anger full in his tone.

"Aw, and miss out on the fun?" Imogen spots a chantry sister tense at the noblemen's words. Yet this sister is content to remain silent while this repulsive wickedness continues before her. Even the sympathetic shems will do nothing to help the elven plight.

"Fun!?" Soris shouts beside her, she is nearly beside herself. Her ever coolheaded cousin, allowing his Tabris blood to win out over his usual collected self.

"Watching you little elves in a tizzy."

"This is more than a tizzy, my lord, this is real tragedy. I ask that you please remove yourselves so that we can tend to our wounded." Valendrian remains a voice of reason, but Imogen wonders how in the name of the void there can be 'reason' in the murder of innocent orphaned children.

"Ah you mistake us facilitator, we are mere observers to this scene."

"Observers!? You caused this!" Another man shouts venomously at these shems, and for once in her life, Imogen feels connected to her people.

"Placing blame prematurely is just like you elves." One of the noblemen shakes his head.

"And doing horrible things without taking responsibility is just like you shems!" Soris spits. Imogen feels like all of the rage she has ever felt now pulses through her people, they have the same indignant heartbeat.

"What is there to take responsibility for?" One of the men stumbles towards her and Soris.

"This travesty!" One of the angry voices cries out.

"I would hardly call this travesty." A nobleman laughs, putting his hand on a friend's shoulder.

"Than what do you call this?" She gestures wildly, finally joining the shouting match she for some reason feels responsible for.

"Population control." The one right in front of her says so seriously, she feels like she'll be ill with all of her passionate resentment.

Soris steps between the two of them, shaking with cold and anger, voice low he says. "You will leave us."

"Little elf boy thinks he can tell me what to do!" The man before him has sweat on his brow, green unfocused eyes and a trembling vibrato to his voice. "Me, Bann Ceorlic's son." His friends are beside themselves with laughter, but Soris does not back down. Even when the bann's son pulls out a knife and holds it to his neck, Imogen feels like she goes blind as he says. "In my Bannorn we do not miss elves with mouths on them."

Before he can move the knife, Imogen's hand is griping his wrist, and with the opposite foot she kicks him straight between the ribs. Still holding his hand until she feels the shoulder dislocate, the bann's son crumbles to the ground.

Soris looks at her in aw for a moment before the screaming of the nobleman shocks them into reality.

"Little bitch!" Two of the noblemen lunge at her, hands grasping at her shoulders. She feels Soris tear one of them off of her, while she kicks in the other's groin until he too is crying out in pain.

"Arrest her!" The final nobleman shouts pointing at her not even attempting to help his fallen friends. The other elves take this opportunity to kick the noblemen while they're down heralding their attack is the sound of guards attempting to finally form ranks. Shouting profanity at the men who are now writhing beneath them, guardsmen start ripping their way through the group of elves.

Deaf and suddenly terrified at the shear amount of anger, Imogen feels a hand grip her wrist. She turns around and pulls the man towards her, ripping his helmet off of his head she begins to punch the man bloody, even as he reaches for his sword. Soris grabs him from behind and manages to rip him off of her, the two attempt to wade through the mob. Escape somehow.

"Fucking cunt!" They hear, before Imogen is pulled back by her hair into the arms of the last standing nobleman. Knife to her throat she nearly screams for help, ultimately deciding to fight back, trying to twist her way out of his grasp. Pain erupts in her side, as soon as the knife moves from her neck to just beneath her ribs. Gasping at the cold cut, she breathes in the scent of mead and cruelty.

Suddenly she's on the ground, crying and gasping for breath, as Soris jerks the knife out of the noble man's hand, and kills him.

"Soris." She chokes on her tears, as her cousin cradles her in his arms.

"I'm here, I'll get you home." He looks at her with wild frightened eyes, and in an instant, they are jostling into her childhood home. She feels him lay her out on the kitchen table, tears and rain water falling down her cheeks, blood running thin down her hands, Shianni and Valora are hovering over her.

"Maker's Breath, Imogen." Her father rests his hands on either side of her face, crying as he takes a spare blanket and dries her skin as best he can.

"Soris." She says avoiding a glance at the wound Shianni has begun to wash with warm water.

"You'll be okay, it's not deep."

"You need to go… go to Highever, take my father. This can only be the beginning." She tells him breath bated from stinging pain.

Soris nods, eyes wild and tearstained, "We're all leaving before the sunrises. As soon as your wound is cleaned."

"No." She says, "You, Valora, and my father."

"You can't stay here Imogen, they'll kill you." Cyrion says harshly.

"Somebody has to keep fighting." She says through grit teeth.

"Let someone else do it." Her father says, heavy sobs and a heavier heart.

"I'm the only one who will do it, papa." She says. "I'm the only one who can keep fighting tragedy after tragedy. If our people have any hope of finding freedom, it has to come from me.

"Maker preserve me, please don't do this." Blanket falling to the floor, Cyrion puts his hand on either side of her face, and kisses her forehead.

"I will stay and should this fight end, I will return. I swear it." She bites her lips together and Shianni wraps her wound. Soon enough the sun begins to purple sky, Valora, Soris and Cyrion prepare to leave. It is such a strange feeling to know that this maybe the last time she sees her family.

In the back of her mind, she is grateful to be able to say goodbye, one look around the alienage will serve as a reminder. So quickly can death and disaster come, that given the chance to tell loved ones goodbye, should be reverant and seen as a blessing.

Her father holds her tight, despite the pain in her side, even Soris cries as the three of them head off to Highever, leaving in their wake two tearful and frightened young women. The world so against them, and yet they have one another, hand in hand, Shianni and Imogen send up separate prayers to the Maker. Both begging that the pending storm be not a hurricane.


	15. Georgiana

**The Wardens, ever vigilant in their quest to unite Ferelden against the Blight, find their way back to the home of Oris. Though nervous and uncomfortable with the thought of returning to the home that scorned him, he takes the lead of the Wardens. Marching into the heart of the Frostback Mountains.**

It has been some time since Gigi has stepped into the sparing ring, what with all the rebuilding and emotional turmoil. Truth be told she rarely enjoyed sparring to begin with, even as a child she spent much of her time sighing and moaning about the whole thing. But now, she simply needs a distraction from all the goings on around her, the return of her mother had been bittersweet at best. Eleanor had taken some of the burden off of the young woman, taking up her old duties and offering assistance with the other nobles seeking answers. Yet the heaviness of her grief added to Gigi's, the unfortunate truth remains that neither of them have finished mourning for Bryce, his death is still as fresh as morning dew.

Still, Georgiana attempts to pull herself together, which is why she now involves herself with the training of the guard. Taking it upon herself, she enters the ring, eyes gentle as she approaches the new recruit, fidgeting in his sparing gear, blunt sword hanging lifelessly at his side. Sir Gilmore typically does not deal with the training of the new recruits that task falls to Sir Fenor, a knight having been in the service of her father for nearly ten years, but today he watches with egger eyes happy to see his friend do something other than sit behind a desk.

"Is the recruit ready?" She asks, the man switches his weight on each foot before realizing she's spoken to him.

"I uh… Yes, my lady." He stumbles to a bow.

"Well, what are you waiting for man? Attack me." She holds up her shield and gestures for him to advance. The elf shakes himself into an awkward stance, cross stepping towards her, unfocused and stumbling like a newborn pup running on marble floors. He hits her shield weakly, eyes wearily looking up towards her, unsure of his every movement.

"Harder." She says, "Provoke me, make me want to fight you."

Swallowing thickly, he throws all of his weight into the next whack of the sword, she retaliates, knocking his weapon out of reach and raising her own to his neck.

"I'm training you right now, recruit, fight me as such."

He grabs his weapon and lunges at her, stronger this time, more determined and still she blocks him with practiced ease. She is disheartened at his incompetence, and she makes this known with the occasional sigh, adding a general façade of disinterest. This dance goes on for some time, eyes glazed over as she goes, until eventually she shakes her head at the recruit.

"Sir Fenor." She calls, around the fifteenth time she easily disarms the poor elf. The knight looks at her with amused eyes.

"Yes, my lady?"

"Why have you taught my recruits next to nothing?"

"I assure you, this is a vast improvement from a month ago."

"Really?" She asks bemused.

"Yes, my lady."

"Well, then come and show me how you train them." The man nods, relieving the exhausted elf of his weapons before facing his patron.

He lunges first, shield barred against hers hard and abrupt, yet this does not catch her off guard. Keeping her footing, she side steps to attack with her sword, a hard hit with the pommel right in his side. He winces but retaliates by knocking her back with his shield.

Swords clashing, the two dance around the other, eyes steeled as their weapons crash against the other, low grunts and loud crashes between metal. Constantly alert, Gigi evades every attack and advance with an easy sort of grace, like this is as simple as walking. Despite the sweat running down her back, she and her partner hardly look nor act labored.

Eventually she manages to get the upper hand, knocking his shield out of the way and pressing her false sword to his neck, threatening and nearly deadly.

A gentle smile graces her lips as she backs away from her knight. "Tell me, sir, should I be the one teaching your recruits?"

"My lady?" He asks.

"I expect to see a massive improvement in your recruits, or I'll have someone else take over their training. Am I understood?"

Sir Fenor nods, bowing to her before turning towards his recruits.

She turns swiftly and walks towards Sir Gilmore, a smirk plain on his face, "Your mother requested an audience, my lady."

"Is that your way of trying to wrangle me in before I take training into my own hands?" She asks with a chuckle.

"How did you ever see right through me?" Sir Gilmore laughs before guiding her to the study. Eleanor has taken to spending much of her time in the study, likely to stay closer to her grandson. Worry seems to have taken residence behind the lady's eyes, never before has Gigi seen her mother so forlorn.

Upon her arrival, Rosco lets out a short bark, rushing from around a bookshelf, wagging his tail and practically grinning. Gigi smiles, leaning down to scratch beneath the pup's chin as Oren bounces over to her.

"Aunty, we were in the middle of a game." He whines, sometimes, Gigi hardly remembers that the boy is only four years. His childish behavior is still justified, even in the face of such terrible things.

"My apologies Oren, could you tell me where grandmother is? Then I'll let you get back to your game."

"She's by the fireplace." He says already back to petting Rosco, attention spent.

"Thank you." She chuckles walking past him towards her mother, even stuck in her grief, Eleanor wears it with pride. Well dressed, put together, looking the picture of refined grace, but Gigi knows better. As her mother sits by diligently reading letter upon letter, wellwishes and maybe even some complaints, the sadness hangs over her like a storm.

"Mother?" Gigi puts a gentle hand on Eleanor's shoulder, watching silently as yet another part of her mother collapses.

"Sit down, darling." She says, patting her daughter's hand.

"What did you need?" Gigi takes the seat opposite Eleanor.

"Much has happened in Ferelden in the past few months."

"Yes, I'm aware, it seems the Wardens have made themselves a bit infamous."

Eleanor nods, "Have you heard of Arl Eamon and Redcliff?"

"I haven't."

With a shake of the head and a sigh, Eleanor explains how the dead walk, the Arl poisoned and now saved by the very hand that Loghain has openly denounced. Informs her daughter that the outside world has descended into chaos, rumors that the circle had called for the Right of Annulment, Redcliff, the staggering losses at Ostagar. Finally, the Arl Howe has been declared the most loyal of Loghain's lackeys, this does not infuriate Gigi as much as she thought it would, instead she feels defeated.

How could this have happened? It must have been orchestrated by a higher being, but for what purpose? What in the name of the void did the Maker have planned?

"What I have called you for was not to spread gossip, darling." Eleanor pulls out a letter and hands it to Gigi, "Eamon has contacted me, said he heard there was trouble here, and wanted to tell me first. He is calling for a Landsmeet as soon at the Wardens have organized a standing army."

"A Landsmeet? What will that accomplish?" Gigi keeps her voice even despite the influx of information throwing her into a mess of jumbled thoughts.

"He is hoping to put a proper king on the throne, with the support of the Teyrn."

"When do you leave?"

"You will be leaving by the end of the week."

Georgiana isn't surprised but she is deeply troubled by the idea of leaving the Teyrn. "Why?" She asks simply.

"You are Teyrna, Georgiana, not I. It is your duty, not only to the Teyrn but to your country men, that you represent the most powerful portion of this nation." Eleanor's eyes flare up as she speaks, like a part of her demands for this to be a source of revenge. "It will be your responsibility to align the north against Loghain. It is your place, nay, your right to insert yourself as a powerful noble who bows to no one but the true crown."

"Mother-"

"We are a proud family, your father… Your father would be devastated at the state of Ferelden." Tears suddenly fall down Eleanor's cheeks, but her words remain harsh. "This is not the country he spent so long fighting for, this is pure madness."

"I miss him too, mother." Gigi feels her own tears beginning in the back of her eyes, how she loaths the feeling.

"The best way we can honor him, is by restoring order, and living long lives." Eleanor reaches for her daughter's hand. "Justice will come to Howe, it may be too much to ask, but I ask you to do everything in your power to shed light on that wretched man's treachery." By the end of her sentence, her voice is trembling and harsh, full of resentment and anguish.

Gigi nods, gripping the hand of her mother, a silence that neither of them knows what to name slips between them. Be it complacency or merely at a loss for words, maybe even a hint or remembrance for their fallen patriarch. While they cannot name the air between them, it is mutual and left untouched, thick as it may be.

"Denerim is not so far, only a four-day journey, really. Should I be leaving so soon?"

Eleanor smiles at her daughter, "Many of the other noblemen have already begun the journey, and as I said, you should be there to begin discussions with the other Arls."

Gigi recalls the night in which the Bann of Highever stormed into her office and berated her, the thought surfaces the emotional trauma she felt that night. The helplessness, the failure to her father and countrymen, the bitter resentment, the grief. All of it comes back twice over, shocking her like she could not believe.

"Gigi?" Her mother asks, "You'll be fine darling, really, you've nothing to worry about."

Looking at her mother, she practically feels the pale anguish that has fallen over her expression. "I hope you're right."

"Of course I'm right, I'm your mother." Eleanor says the word mother softly, like every syllable deserves to dissipate in the air before mingling with the next.

Georgiana remembers a time when her mother was a force to be reckoned with, the strongest tongue in the Landsmeet beside her father. Never angry at either her or Fergus, mostly frustrated or stern, and ever the picture of nobility. Now the woman before her looks worn, tired and grieving, like an old woman. Gigi's mother was not old, not tired, not finished fighting, this world she names reality continues to astound and shock her.

"Darling, what's going on?" Eleanor asks when she is met with silence.

"I miss father." She says eyes glassy, surprisingly emotional. Eleanor nods, crying silently with her daughter. Somehow the two women end up tangled in the other, mother holding her daughter with a fierceness she hadn't exhibited since that fateful night. Gigi squished against her mother's chest, finally feeling as if this is the time for mourning, it's alright to cry, alright to be distraught.

It is a stifling paralyzing thing, to recognize ones grief is warranted, if not mandatory. Currently, Gigi and Eleanor feel this necessity, and they do not know if this should ever end.


	16. Lazuli

**The Wardens arrive to an Orzammar in chaos, King Endrin is dead, and the Assembly is in ruins. The others look to Oris for guidance, and the Dwarf hasn't a clue who to side with. (Or as it were, side against.)**

Something is not right in Orzammar and it's not just the streets being full of protesters and fanatics, that is nearly typical. No there's something dark and heavy in the air, what it is she can't say for certain, and when she mentioned it to Gorim his response was simple.

"You're grieving love, the world is a dark place, but no more than usual."

Gorim is not the type to easily dismiss her, and so she recognizes that she needs to focus on other things. Unfortunately, the only thing she can focus on is the Anvil, she knows there's roads to the anvil, a surprising amount of the Deep Roads haven't been destroyed. If she can just find a sure route. And suddenly she's looking round the shaperate, the soft sounds of voices she does not recognize assaulting her ears.

Outsiders, how very odd, standing before the Lord Shaper, a large eclectic group in mismatched armor and glancing around like school children. They vary in race and height, even a few mages stand among them, there is one dwarf leading the group he seems to be their guide but Lazuli does not recall his face.

"Those are the Wardens." One of the shapers whispers to her.

Laz looks directly at the shaper, "The Wardens are here again?"

He nods once, "Haven't you heard about the battle of Ostagar? The entire topsider king's army slaughtered and the blight only draws nearer." She stares at him in awe and concern, yet remains silent insisting he continue. "I heard Bhelen and Harrowmont are vying for the support of the Wardens. Their vote could be very important in the assembly. But who knows if that will break the tie."

"Something has to." Laz says, glancing back at the group. They seem to be mulling over their course of action, though a small number of them laugh wildly, at the others expense, she assumes due to the looks on their faces.

"The only thing that could break that tie now, is if Branka herself rose from beyond the stone to smack some sense into them."

At the very mention of the paragon, Laz turns back towards her research, most of the maps she has begun comparing for safe passage contradict one another. Closed passages, blocked roads and a mess of other such things clutter each and every map she attempts to comprehend.

"Maker's breath woman, don't you ever shut up!" One of the outsiders groans loudly.

"I am merely pointing out the obvious, I cannot even begin to fathom how we can still be discussing this. The choice is clear."

"To you, perhaps."

"Alistair, Morrigan, stop yelling or I will separate you two!"

"She started it."

This is the group of Wardens? "I happen to agree with our dear Morrigan, is it not clear who we should be supporting? There is a certain type of man that can rule, no?"

"Blah, blah, blah, political intrigue, blah, blah, crown some twat king, get what we came for. Honestly for an order that prides itself on distinctly staying out of the political game we certainly have had our  _unfair_ share of it."

"Wesley stop it."

"Maker's breath, would you children stop your bickering? We must introduce ourselves to all options first."

"Always the voice of reason, my lovely Wynne."

"Zevran, one more smart remark-"

"Now who's being childish?"

For her own sanity Lazuli tunes out the Wardens, the group of squabbling topsiders are of no concern to her, Branka must be found, stopped, and Orzammar must have her king. Attention solely on these maps, she manages to compile enough of a route, that conceivably, could get her to the anvil in a matter of days. It is only when she finds herself satisfied with her work, that she notices a small cluster of guardsmen hovering around her.

"Can I be of assistance?" She asks closing a few of the tomes she no longer requires.

"No, my lady, his highness has requested you be guarded at all times."

She narrows her gaze, "Has he now?"

"Yes, my lady." The guard bows to her.

"Well, it seems I need to pay my dear brother a visit. Where is he?"

"In the royal palace, my lady."

"I see, please, don't follow me." She says the last bit as she tucks her notes under her arm, storming off towards the palace. Bhelen certainly has some nerve attempting to keep a hold of her, even when she's nothing to do with the bleeding election. The violence might reach her, true, but the event of that ever happening is highly unlikely. The mad sister of the potential king is hardly a target for such narrowminded men as those in the assembly.

Briskly stalking through the palace with an almost grace to her step, how often had she found herself in this exact position? Angrily tearing through the palace to berate her brother? It used to be Trian she tore apart, Bhelen used to take her side in every argument, and her father would laugh heartily until things were about to get out of hand. Now, here they are; Father dead, Trian dead, her insane, married, and Orzammar in shambles as she awaits her new king. Ancestors preserve her, the world has gone mad.

Just as she approaches her brother's chambers she hears him speaking to someone, loud and without an ounce of caution.

"The difference of one noble house, is quite small however." He says, she can hear the conniving bastard's voice drips with self-assurance.

"What do you want now?" A gruff voice asks.

"The Carta has been especially troublesome, nothing can be done without their interference. You Wardens have proven yourselves very capable, and I'm certain you could thin them out. Or reduce them to nothing, I am under the impression that you have connections in the Carta."

"I-… did once, your highness."

"Good, then I suggest you try looking for your old friends." Laz dashes into the nearest room watching intently as the group of Warden's exits her brother's chambers. Eyes focusing on each of them, a dwarf at the front of the group, followed closely by two elves, a knight, three mages, an archer, a mabari, a qunari, and a golem of all things. A wild group, eclectic and loud, aside from the clanking armor they never stop talking for even a moment, just to one another.

Laz shakes off her speculation, regains her composure and barrels into her brother's quarters.

"Bhelen." She says firmly, he and several of his advisors turn towards her.

"Lazuli, what are you doing here? Alone no less?" He asks with narrowed gaze, for all the polish in his voice while speaking with the wardens, she can see right through him. Bhelen is exhausted, grieving the loss of their father, and desperate for power, she has never seen him so low before.

"Here to yell at you. I thought that much was obvious." She retorts hotly.

"Sister, I don't have time for you today." He sighs.

"Of course." She scoffs.

"Gorim, would you please explain to your wife that she needs protection right now?"

"Bhelen, damn you, leave me out of your fucking political game!"

"You think I want you involved in this Lazuli!?" He slams his fist on the table, the room vibrating with the motion, before he rounds the table to grasp her shoulders. "You think I want you hunted by fanatics!? I don't! That's why I'm trying to protect you!"

"I don't need your bleeding protection." She says, voice burning in her throat.

"Wake up, Laz! The world is burning, and it will consume you if you insist on being blind to it." He shakes her roughly, dropping the documents she's been carrying. "What is that?" He asks, breath bated.

"Nothing to concern yourself with, I can assure you." She spits. Yet he reaches down, picks up the parchment, and begins to read her notes.

Gorim stands between the two siblings, eyes pleading and tired. "Your highness, please, Lazuli go home we will discuss this tonight. There is no need to get so defensive and-"

Bhelen holds up his hand to silence his second, fuming with rage he turns to his sister, "Are you serious, Laz? This! This is what you've been doing!?" The papers waving furiously in front of her face, her skin burns with embarrassment. "Ancestors preserve me Lazuli, for the last time Caridin did not call out to you. Whatever you thought you heard it wasn't real!"

"This isn't about Caridin this is about Branka." She responds evenly, as her brother's face nearly purples with rage.

"Why do you insist on making things more difficult!? Why won't you just let us protect you!?"

"From what are you protecting me, Bhelen!? Myself!?"

"Apparently!" He throws his hands up in resignation storming back towards his war table. Still clutching her notes, with his free hand running along his brow.

"Darling, please go home, we will talk tonight." Gorim's soft, ever sure voice pierces her heart painfully. Turning on her heel, Laz walks out of the room and out to the city streets, almost unsurprised to be met by Lord Harrowmont. Her surprise stems from the idea that all of these things can continue to exist at one time. What has she done to deserve this?

"Are you alright, princess?"

"I am… just fine, my lord. How are you?"

"By the looks of things, not so well. The wardens are allying themselves with your brother."

"Yes, well it's not as though they have a good option, Orzammar is near collapse."

Lord Harrowmont chuckles at her blatant insult. "I believe there is still hope." He hands her a sheet of parchment.

"What is this?"

"I figured your brother might take your research from you." His smile is vile and she nearly punches his teeth in.

"How many times do I have to tell you, I want nothing to do with this game." She snarls still indulging herself, reading the notes, perfect copies of her own. She had just written these, who could have seen and copied them so quickly?

"I'm not going to tell you what to do, but I will remind you, that in regards to Branka, Oghren is always more than willing to assist you in any affair you can imagine. Not only that I hear an expedition into the deep roads leaves in just a few hours…"

She feels her breath stall, the deep roads, she hasn't been back since... Is it worth it? Can she do this? Should she even bother?

"Good day, princess." He bows to her and continues to traverse the Diamond Quarter. She looks back at her notes, the handwriting is cleaner than her own, considering how quickly she had begun to scrawl when she'd happened upon all of this. Making up her mind, she strides towards Tapsters, there is no other option, she has to find Branka. Her brother will never allow her to leave, this could be her one chance.

Oghren is not hard to find, his booth situated close to the back of the tavern, she notices he looks particularly sober. Nobody seems to notice her, not that she has ever come to Tapsters, truthfully this crowd wouldn't know her by face. But the warrior does know her, and he snorts loudly.

"By my ancestors. What do you want? Come to warn me not to terrorize the kiddies?"

She sits down and scowls at him, "I'm going to go find your wife. And you're going to help me."

He looks like he might vomit, or choke on his laughter, maybe both. "You want to find Branka? Why? So, your sodding brother can take the throne?"

"I have my reasons."

"Crazy fucking princess, wants to find my crazy fucking wife."

"I can go alone, you know. I have a map."

"You what?" She shows him her papers, watches his face melt from disbelief into a wicked grin. He glances up at her before bellowing with laughter. "Well call me a nug's mother, you've still got some bit of a brain in there."

"Does that mean you're coming?"

"You bet your ass I'm coming, when do we leave?"

She explains her plan; sneak into the guard ranks heading into the deep roads, separate themselves, head to Caridin's Cross, and then to Ortan Thaig. Surprisingly enough they manage to slip into the guard unnoticed, then even more coincidentally they are able to slip away with ease. In an instant Lazuli realizes she's been set up, this time it's Harrowmont's doing, and she's not about to let this turn out the same as it did before.

"Stop." She says to Oghren.

"Don't tell me you're having second thoughts." He says harshly.

"I'm not, we've just got to be ready to fight."

"What are you talking about?"

She turns back around and scans the darkness of the cavern. "This is a trap, or a set up. One of those."

"What are you-" Then as if choreographed, out steps a group of guardsmen working for none other than Lord Harrowmont.

"Sod it." Oghren unsheathes his sword.

"So sorry you're caught up in this once again Princess. Truth be told, we would have preferred you be left to your madness. But it seems that those you trust have other plans." The head guard says lowly.

She pulls out her own blade, not angry, merely frustrated at the saga of bullshit she continues to encounter. And only eight guards? Insane she may be, but that's just an insult to her strength.

Soon she and the drunken warrior are engaged in combat, and Lazuli comes to the terrifying realization that they are not overwhelmed. While she is out of practice she also manages to hold her own against the three men attacking her. Oghren on the other hand has already mowed through two opponents as if they were nothing but dust on the ground before him.

When their enemies lie dead, Lazuli wonders if this is truly it, eyes darting to Oghren, who is already looting the bodies, her heart clenches.

"Do you hear that?" She asks softly, the pounding of feet in the distance startling her senseless.

"Darkspawn?" He asks.

"Or reinforcements?" The two of them draw their weapons and hold their breath, waiting for an assault. But who enters shocks both Lazuli and Oghren.

"Grey Wardens?" She asks, finally coming face to face with the group of men and women she'd been watching from afar.

"Uh… Who are you? Why are there bodies everywhere?" The knight's mouth runs quickly and the dark mage wastes no time, wrapping her hand around his mouth.

"I happen to agree with Alistair, who are you?" The elf, Dalish by the looks of him, steps forward.

"I am Lazuli Aeducan, second born of Endrin Aeducan, and princess of Orzammar."

"Don't tell me you too are vying for the throne, I am quite tired of nobles." The male mage steps forward, looking haggard, yet humored.

"No, I'm looking for the Paragon Branka. This is Oghren, her husband."

"Brosca? You know them?" The Dalish looks to the only dwarf in the group.

He swallows thickly but responds with a stuttering, "I-uh… I c-c-certainly know of them."

"What's the matter with you? Cat got your tongue?" Alistair asks, having finally wrangled free of the dark mage's grasp.

The dwarf runs his fingers through his beard, hesitant at first but shakes his head.

"Well, what's your opinion then?" The group seems to be using Brosca as their dwarven translator, and the poor man looks like he'd rather be anywhere else in Thedas.

"If I may." Lazuli says in such a stern way that the group turns towards her. "My brother, Bhelen, he gave you a map, did he not? Maybe a few pages of notes?"

"How… How did you know that?" Brosca asks.

"Because I wrote them, you want to find Branka, you bring us with you." She folds her arms over her chest. "And if you don't believe me, I have an exact copy of those notes right here." She pulls out the copied notes and hands them to the dwarf. She has heard of Oris Brosca, Carta dwarf, criminal, won the Proving which caused much outrage and a delay that allowed herself to compete, casteless turned grey warden, and Rica's brother. The man looks and acts tough as diamond, but has turned to liquid before her. She is not sure how she feels about this.

"I say we bring the pretty one along, she could prove quite useful." The other elf, this one Antivan, is either mocking her or actually flirting. She cannot conceive either of those notions.

"Oh yes, let's just allow every random person we come across to join our group. Brilliant." The dark mage throws her hands up in irritation.

"Well, Morrigan we do allow you to continue to travel with us." Alistair snickers.

"Oh, would you two stop it." The little archer with an Orleasian accent of all things, scolds them lightly.

"Leliana, my dove, I'm afraid they don't know how to talk to one another without bickering." The male mage wraps an arm around the archer. "I say bring them."

"Really? But they look especially squishy." The golem certainly has a mouth on it.

"Who are you calling squishy, rock man?" Oghren growls.

"You, very clearly." The Qunari has a cold harsh stare that is unrelenting.

"So, you're the group of legendary warriors sent to save Ferelden?" Lazuli asks, having watched the display in shock and disbelief.

"The very same." The Dalish gives a devilish smirk.

"Ancestors preserve me." She shakes her head, "Shall we head out?"

Brosca looks at her with wide nervous eyes, but nods anyway. With a sharp turn, she beckons them to follow, entirely uncertain if these people will help or harm Orzammar in the long run.


	17. Imogen

**The Wardens and Orzammar's Princess delve into the deep roads, traveling through Ortan Thaig. Facing the terrors hidden far beneath the ground, with purpose and diligence however, they continue on searching for the lost Paragon.**

Imogen spends a few days recovering before she sets out of the Alienage again. This time when she ventures out, she goes beyond the walls of Denerim, telling herself that this is merely a side trip, nothing more than a diversion from her work. Yet somewhere deep down the truth echoes in waves.

This can't be real, the silent war her people have been fighting for so long, can't possibly be rearing to fight boldly. Not with a blight, not with her father gone away, not when the Alienage is in shambles.

_The world is on fire, Imogen, where do you intend to stand when the blaze inevitably licks at your feet?_

Truth be told she knows little of war, knows that Andraste fought against Tevinter, but little else. War is meant for history books and fables; the present is not meant for holy battle and defense against ancient evil. Aside from that, revolution is not meant for her kind, every attempt at equality ends in massacre, ends with the destruction and desecration of the elven people.

Can she really allow herself to be the cause of such protestations? Can she allow herself to be the one to take the first fall before thousands die after her? Will there ever be peace if she does not fight?

In all honesty, she doesn't want to fight a revolution, she has quite enjoyed her time free in the streets of Denerim. Held down by no master, taking jobs of thievery and the selling of information. Learning new trades, making friends with a pirate crew. Imogen recognizes she is not meant for a life of chivalry and revolution, she is meant for the lower things in this world.

Yet she hears the voice her mother when she even dares entertain the idea of settling for such things, 'complacency is villainy'. She spends all day walking the country road towards an estate just outside of Denerim, slips a vial of poison to a tipped off servant, then mills back to the city.

What if she'd been born human? Still common, still simple, no fire in her gut stirring her to action, married by now. Or maybe a child of the dales? Or of the stone? Who else could possibly deal with these trials as she has?

For a moment, as she passes back into Denerim's city walls, she wonders if she should have gone with her father and Soris. Chosen an easier life, until Shianni could join them in Highever, find a husband she would learn to love. Maybe then she could raise children more prepared to fight in her stead. Leave the revolution to be fought for another generation.

But then what was anything she has done up until now done for? Why did she fight so hard and for what was she battling? She still wears the ring Nelros gave to her, all this time telling herself this was her way of mourning. But she never truly mourned his lose to begin with, was not distraught or wailing into the night. No, she was angry, livid, determined to fight against her captors and claim responsibility where none had been prior.

"Imogen!" Shocked back into reality by Isabela, the elf looks into the pirate's eyes. Blazing with humor and mock shame. Clicking her tongue, she leans back, "You know with eyes like those I'd say you're either having dirty thoughts that I'm surprised you've yet to share with me. Or, you're thinking something dangerous."

Imogen smirks, "Both, I've been wondering how much reliability I can put on ropes, when I'm being fucked at the gallows."

Isabela tilts her head back with a laugh, "Oh, I see, plotting revolution?"

"No… I don't know what I'm 'plotting' to be honest." When Isabela's brow quirks at her, Imogen sighs. "Don't mind me, my moral compass is acting up again."

"That happens sometimes, I find it best to listen to it."

"How can I, when it has no idea what to do either?"

"Well, you figure out what's true, figure out what isn't and go from there."

"What?" Imogen asks, "I don't follow."

"The way I see it, it's simple. You know about the bad stuff, slavery, and uh… well most other stuff is fair game."

"What a gem of a girl you are."

Isabela winks dramatically, "That's what I'm here for."

"And the rest?"

"Ah, right, next you know the good stuff. Your helping people and other goody goody things."

"You're so very insightful." With a quick shove Imogen ceases her laughter.

"Then you pick, what I say no to, what I say yes to."

"I'm not revolutionist material… Am I?"

"You know how I told you my husband died?"

"Yes."

"Well, I had the choice to go back home and wait to be married off to the next man who paid enough. But I said screw that, and did what I felt was right."

"So, you're saying?"

"Become a pirate."

Imogen chuckles, "Maybe you're right."

"While I'm usually all for that, I think you're wrong." Isabela finishes off her drink then looks Imogen dead in the eyes, "I'm not fit for saving anyone but myself, that's a fact and I've learned it well. The question you need an answer to is, what are you capable of?"

"I-"

"No, no, that's not for you to answer. I'd say you're fit to save others, you saved your bridesmaids, kept your own head, and still tried to provide for your family. Ideal or not, that's what you did, given the chance you could save a whole lot more people, you've just got to look for it."

"I'd like to believe that, but I'm a criminal nothing more."

"Bah, criminal. If you think that you're more gone than I thought. You really need to buck up and take a stand."

"What if I am only good at saving myself?"

"Tell that to the stab wound in your gut." Isabela stares at her friend, intent and fiery. "Tell that to your cousin's pretty little wife, or the girls you saved."

"What about you?"

"Pft, I've saved one pretty little thing and that's enough good will and shit for my life time." Imogen kisses Isabela's cheek before returning to her drink.

"You know, for a pirate, you really are soft."

"Tell that to my crew mates."

"I have, they say it's because I've bedded you."

"I believe I'm the one who bedded you. Speaking of which, I've an appointment with a surprisingly strong elf and an angry bit of rope." Isabela stands up from the table but not before grazing Imogen's jawline with her finger tip. "You've got the chance to change not only your lot in life, but that of others like you, don't cast it aside, simple because of uncertainty."

With a wink Isabela and her swaying hips are gone, Imogen is left alone with her thoughts once again, if there is room for revolution in all of this chaos… It lies with someone very hard to get in contact with, hard but not entirely impossible. If she pulls the right strings the next time they're in Denerim, maybe she can patch up some of this mess she's made.


	18. Georgiana

**The Wardens have traversed through many an atrocity yet none compare to the dark depths of the Deep Roads, that even the Legion of the Dead refuse to enter. It is there at the end of their road, they encounter the Brood mother, their fiercest opponent yet. Harrowed and bloody they still manage to emerge victorious, ready and able to face the next task in their quest for the Anvil of the Void.**

Georgiana likes to believe she is a dignified leader, a refined lady, and wears a graceful presence. The type of lady who thinks that language holds power, and that words are not simply that. Words are an art form all their own, and what she says holds great meaning. Even so sometimes, emotion overrides that grace.

"Fuck it, I don't care anymore." Sir Gilmore's face flushes so brightly and so quickly she wonders if she'll have to catch him.

"M-… My lady?"

"You heard me." She folds her arms like a child.

"But, uh… You still have a few-"

"I. Don't. Care. The noblemen can wait to complain at me until I've returned from Denerim." She says firmly, "I leave in the morning, I don't have time to hold audiences today, and frankly I don't care what they have to say."

Taking in a deep breath Sir Gilmore nods at her, "I'm not going to tell them you said any of that."

She cracks a smile, "Thank you… I appreciate that."

"But they will want to know your return date."

"Tell them I am currently uncertain, but I will send word to each of the noble houses wishing to speak with me."

"Yes, my lady."

"Thank you, you have been a good friend through all of this."

He smiles at her, "And you've been an exceptional leader, my friend."

As he exits the study, Gigi takes in a heavy breath, truth be told she's never been to Denerim alone. Always with her parents, for a wedding or a formal, never for the Landsmeet, Fergus attended with their father, while she remained at Highever. To say she's anxious is an understatement, not only is she expected to go to Denerim alone, but she must combat the King-Regent and accuse Arl Howe of his treachery.

Maker's breath she isn't prepared, doesn't know if any of this will work. So far everything she has managed to overcome has been nothing short of miracle work.

Opting to have supper with her mother and Oren, rather than locking herself away in her study, she wanders towards the dining hall, Rosco trotting dutifully behind her. Something startling has happened in the past few weeks, that Gigi had hardly noticed. A strange sense of normalcy has fallen on the castle, with her mother home and Oren back to his usual playfulness, there is a life she swore this place would never see again.

When she enters the informal dining hall Oren jumps up and down in his seat, "Aunty Gi, I told grandmother you'd come." Eleanor casts an amused smile towards her daughter as the little boy begins animatedly explaining to his aunt all about his lessons. He has done this every day since their return, she has tried to make a habit of coming to dine with her mother and nephew. Attempting to grasp a semblance of normalcy, she finds these meals a welcome distraction.

Something about the way Oren has already forgotten the horrors in these halls, brings her comfort. Even when she notes, that he has just as easily forgotten his own mother, his father, and his grandfather. But now is not a time for such sad thoughts, now is the time to listen to a child so enthralled by history lessons and books that Eleanor must continually remind him to eat his dinner.

"How long will you be gone Aunty?" Oren asks as supper comes to a close, Gigi smiles at the boy.

"I'm not sure yet, Oren. It'll take some days for me to reach Denerim and then I have quite a bit of work to do."

"But you'll come back soon, won't you?"

"As soon as I'm able." She promises, lifting him into her arms and kissing his cheek. "Let's get ready for bed, why don't we?"

"Gigi, come see me after you've put Oren down, please." Eleanor says standing from the table as well.

Bouncing the boy, she takes him upstairs, he continues to babble on and on about the world he is slowly uncovering. How much he loves history, how he wishes that the elves had a better lot in life. He can't wait until he's older, so that he can change things, make them better.

"Just like you, Aunty." He says, soft breath against her neck.

She smiles just slightly as she sends him to change, before tucking him into bed. With a kiss and a song, Oren is quickly off to the fade, and Gigi heading towards her mother's chambers.

There, Eleanor smiles softly at her daughter, beckons her to sit beside her on the bed. Once, when she was smaller and a little gentler, she'd crawled into this bed and cried her eyes out, her dreams too dark a place. Her mother would hold her close, wipe the tears from her cheeks and sing her soft lullabies, before crawling between her parent's bodies.

"Are you ready to leave, darling?" She asks, tucking a strand of hair behind her daughter's ear.

"I am." Gigi says, voice small.

"You'll do just fine, you know."

"I… I love you mother."

"I love you my darling girl."

"I shouldn't be so worried."

"No, you shouldn't, in fact, it is everyone else who should be worried." Eleanor chuckles, running her hand down Gigi's arm. "You're so much like your father, you'll cause such a storm in the Capitol, people will have to listen to you, that and the rumors spreading about you."

"Rumors?" She asks with a scoff.

"Yes, the world seems to think you singlehandedly burned Arl Howe's armies to the ground. That Andraste herself rode into battle beside you before you slaughtered the lot of them."

Gigi laughs, "Maker's breath."

"You will succeed, Gigi." Eleanor stands up and walks to her dresser, sighing she turns back around holding out a beautiful broach, the Cousland crest emblazoned on it. "Your father gave this to me when we were first married, I wore it to every Landsmeet I ever attended."

Gigi stands to meet her mother in the middle of the room, Eleanor gazing at the gem as if inside its crystals she can still see the moment he gifted her this. How such small things as broaches become the catalysts of fond memories, so quickly after death is nothing short of tragedy. The way trinkets act as windows to a past, to a person.

"I won't be needing it any longer. I had intended on giving it to Oranna but… It seems only appropriate that you wear it. To fight for your family."

"I will." She hugs her mother, "Will I see you before I depart?"

"I do not believe so."

"Then I will see you soon, mother. I will return with Howe's head on a pike."

Eleanor chuckles, taking her daughter's chin and giving her head a swift shake. "That's my girl. Just make sure the blood is dry when you return, I won't have his blood staining my home."

Gigi chuckles, "Of course mother."

The two women part ways, Georgiana, still anxious, readies for bed. Rosco already waiting on the bed for her to join him, she smiles slightly. Throughout everything, she's always had him, she'll spoil him for just a bit longer.

"You ready for bed boy?" She asks with a smile. Rosco woofs biting the turned down blankets to pull them up. She lays beside him, scratching his head as he lays across her stomach. The fear she feels squished by pounds of mabari, a chuckle bubbles out of her.

"Everything will be alright." She says this to herself, but Rosco agrees with a snore. Somehow, she manages to fall asleep.


	19. Lazuli

**After traversing through the trials of the Deep Roads, encountering dark evils and wickedness indescribable. The Wardens encounter the Anvil of the Void, coveted by the dwarven people. Only to be faced with yet another ultimatum.**

The past week has been full of more oddities than Lazuli was willing or able to deal with. Months of being out of practice in the art of sword play has left her one of the weakest in the group. Although Morrigan and Zevran have proven to be quite fragile in a battle. They're so close, but the Wardens insist on resting for the night, Lazuli cannot argue with them, her head is pounding.

She knew she'd hit a stroke of luck to avoid the pain in her head, but as is always the case, she cannot escape it forever. Camp is made, and she sits beside the fire, holding her head in her hands to keep the world steady.

Watching, in a quiet reverence as she has the past few nights, the Wardens have made this ragtag team feel like a family. How Leliana and Wesley snuggle up beside the other as if their arms were carved for one another. Morrigan, Flynn, and Zevran sharing laughs and rude remarks, while Oris and Sten sit in idle silence seeming content. Alistair spends much of his time with the mabari, Wynne, even Oris, and somehow, everything feels strange. Like this is their peace, perhaps it is because she does not recognize the feeling anymore.

Whatever the case, she watches the sameness of it all, tears rolling down her cheeks as the pain stabs over and over again.

"What is troubling you, your highness?" Wynne has either snuck up on her, or simply approached, either one.

"It is... Of no co-consequence… I am susceptible to headaches, nothing more." She tries to explain coolly, but as always, the pulse in her head causes her words to stutter and jumble.

Wynne takes to her knees, splaying out her hands over Lazuli's head, the pulsating begins to fade. For a moment she thinks that this will just be a moment of reprieve before it returns full force, but no, she simply eases the pain and all at once it's gone.

She gazes up at the mage in awe, though Wynne has started rummaging through her pouches.

"Nothing too serious, though I imagine those spells were quite painful." She says.

"What did you do?"

"Your brain was not receiving enough blood, I suspect some sort of trauma caused a blockage. You'll be alright. Should the pains still linger, drink this." She hands Lazuli a potion while continuing to rummage through her things. For a moment Lazuli wants to curse Orzammar, their isolation leading to her prolonged suffering. Months of crippling pain only to be solved in mere moments, just one more reason to be bitter.

"So…" She starts to ask but stops herself short.

"Yes?" Wynne turns to her.

"I'm not crazy…?"

"Why would you be crazy exactly?" Flynn of all people asks.

"Because…" She begins to relay her experience in Thaig Aeducan, everything from the singing, to the destruction of her mind. And of course, Caridin, maybe if her affliction was so easily cured by these people, they would know something about the manipulation of the mind. When she's finished her tale, the other Wardens have fallen silent, listening intently.

"If I'm not mistaken," Wesley says when the weight of quiet has settled like a blanket over them. "That sounds curiously like blood magic."

"Dwarves don't perform magic." Lazuli says.

"No, but once when the doors of the deep roads were more open… maybe some mage was welcome in the halls of this Thaig."

Lazuli mulls over this thought as Morrigan laughs, "Congratulations, Wesley, you've finally managed to string together a coherent thought that wasn't about the sister."

Batting a hand towards the witch, with a small smile, Wesley continues. "You said the Thaig is sealed?"

"Yes, it has been ever since."

"Maybe when we return to Orzammar we can convince your king to allow you to return." As she nods at the mage, Flynn speaks up.

"So… Who do you want to be king? Considering your brother tried to have you killed, I can't imagine you'd want him on the throne."

"Well, truth be told, the both of them have tried to kill me, so it seems an even playing field."

"Right very unsettling…" Alistair shakes his head, "And why aren't you contending for the throne?"

"Aside being thought insane?" She snorts, "I never wanted to be involved in the sodding assembly."

"I can't blame you there." Wesley scoffs.

"And I've married beneath my class, not that I particularly cared for that either."

"You what?" Oris asks, shocked and taken aback.

"Yes, the insane princess was married off to the only man who could love her in such a state." Lazuli chuckles. "Strange, that Endrin's two surviving children have a distaste for the rules, especially in regards to caste."

"So… you know about-"

"Yes, I know your sister and my brother are an item." She says, causing a whole slew of rude comments towards Oris, his face immediately red as lava. "So in answer to your question, I've no interest in my continued public figure."

"Then what will you do after all of this?" Wesley asks.

"I'll be left alone, to spend my days with my husband… Though I do imagine he'll be quite put out with my unannounced trek into the deep roads."

"Yes, I believe I can imagine that." Flynn chuckles, the conversation diverges from there, Lazuli savoring each moment she is not plagued by headache.

When they've rested enough, the group sets out towards the Anvil, their success emanates as they encounter the infamous Paragon herself. Lazuli refrains from killing the mad women right then and there, instead following the warden's lead. Upon their insistence, following the group through the trials laid before them, by Caridin himself.

Only then do they come face to face with the large, armor clad golem, who has named himself Caridin. He paints a tale of slavery and unrest, and looks upon Shale with a sad sort of remembrance.

"I see the young Aeducan heard my cry for help through the lyrium song as well."

"How, did you do that?" She dares to ask, having taken up a position of silence since the beginning of this encounter.

"Our people once used long forgotten arts, to preserve and enrich our history. Your family and I sealed a bond with blood and lyrium, I am grateful that the Aeducan blood remains strong in you."

Flynn continues to ask questions, until of course, Branka rushes in demanding the Wardens help her take Caridin down.

"Wardens, I cannot allow you to side with her, she's clearly gone mad." Lazuli says, "I stand with the Paragon Caridin."

"Be reasonable, imagine the power on your side, with the creation of golems." Morrigan says.

"Um, you didn't… Actually just… Try to justify slavery. Right?" Wesley looks aghast, "We're not trying to justify slavery here… I hope."

"I agree with the squishy mage, I don't think it wise to side with the crazed dwarf. I must side with this Caridin." Shale declares moving to Caridin's side.

"Well, I've certainly tried to help you build a stronger army, don't come crying to me when your army proves weak." Morrigan grumbles.

Branka begins shouting obscenities, trembling with rage before revealing in her grasp, a control rod, bringing the surrounding golems to life. Caridin, frozen where he stands begs for the help of the group.

Setting into action, Laz wastes no time in engaging Branka herself in combat, she finds herself flanked by Oris. How the Ancestors must see things come to this, how her father must be shouting from beyond the stone. A casteless surface dwarf and the former princess of Orzammar battling a paragon and a small army of golems.

Branka is unfortunately a skilled opponent, maybe her being married to a great warrior has something to do with it. Somehow, even with two warriors against her, she still manages to block every movement, just as Lazuli sidesteps, Branka is there blocking before throwing a swift jab towards Oris. Just as she thinks that maybe this is not going to work, that this fight may not end in their favor, Oghren appears just behind Branka, eyes flaring with something, not quite rage and still not totally sad.

He takes her on, near single handedly, much to Lazuli's shock and surprise, eyes wide, taking in each second. If she didn't know better, she would call this teasing, call it a married couple testing the other's metal. However, there is no denying that there remains a certain venom in their movements, a deadly air to every block and attack. She can see in Oghren's eyes he does not want to do this, does not want to battle his wife, yet what choice does he have?

Once, she had heard stories of them, when Branka had first rose to power, Lazuli was but a child not yet reaching teenage. There were those that said, Oghren and Branka were a powerful couple, strong in metal and mind. She heard that they loved, they held one another in the palm of their hand, revered the other as if a gift. But childless and harboring a burning desire for knowledge not meant for either party, they broke, just as ordinary people would. Lazuli decides then, that Paragons are ordinary people, trying against all odds to save themselves, but only managing to scrape up enough power to be given a title.

A title she is no longer sure is an honor, and in fact suspects it may even be a curse.

Oris takes the killing blow, after having stood by watching Oghren battle the woman, the two dwarves realized he would not bring himself to kill his wife. Together, the dwarves help their comrades defeat the remaining golems, and once again they are stood before Caridin.

Flynn, adamant that they still need something for the assembly, convinces the Paragon to craft a fine crown for the future king. This whole string of events feels unreal, entirely too story book-esque, like that of a great fantastical story told to children. Yet she has witnessed it with her own eyes, there is no denying the reality of it all.

Their journey back to Orzammar is swift, their trek plagued by far less darkspawn and the route clear. In a matter of three days they have returned to the city and right on time.

The group rushes towards the assembly and hears the nobles within the chamber argue just as loudly as before. Led by none other than Lazuli herself, the wardens surge into the hall, startling every noble out of their skin.

"Sister, you're alive!" Bhelen leans down from his post in shock.

"Unfortunately, I am." She scowls, garnering the attention of the assembly Lazuli explains the ordeals she and the Wardens faced. Revealing Caridin's true form and the death of Branka, once every deshyr is enraptured by her story Oris attempts to hand her the crown. She ignores him outright.

"Who is the one Caridin has chosen to lead Orzammar?" The Lord of the Assembly asks.

"This is entirely unreasonable, outsiders cannot pick the one to lead us." Lord Harrowmont shouts, "And everyone knows they have openly supported Bhelen."

"This one, is not an outsider." Lazuli says, indicating to Oris, voice full of power, "Orzammar was his home once, surely he has her best interest in mind."

"Warden, who will be our next king?" The Steward turns a harsh gaze on the once casteless dwarf.

Oris breathes heavily for a few moments before declaring, "Prince Bhelen shall rule."

The Assembly is hardly shocked, and yet an air of relief fills the hall, a whirlwind of motion captures every person in the area. Just like that, Lazuli is witnessing her brother take the throne, she is still uncertain how to feel.

As his first act, he orders Harrowmont to die, Laz wishes she had the inner strength to fight him. Ask he be exiled or maybe pardoned altogether, despite everything this man was her father's friend and she wishes she could offer him something. There is a part of her that wants him dead, for all he has caused her, but then again Bhelen has also tried to kill her.

In the end, she merely watches as he declares Orzammar will aid the Grey Wardens.

"And as for you sister." She is shocked to hear him address her in front of the assembly. He won't berate her here, surely.

"Yes, brother?" She asks.

"You helped these Wardens, did you not?"

"I did what was required of me."

"Then you too shall be privy to reward, what do you ask of your king?"

She notices a twinge of victory in his tone, by the stone, he will never let her live this down. That she helped put him on the throne.

"When I met Caridin, he said that he called out to me, through long forgotten arts, used to preserve our history. What is in Thaig Aeducan is no longer a threat, I ask that it be excavated." Bhelen looks ready to deny her but she continues before he can. "I also ask to lead our forces out of Orzammar to the surface against the blight, after which… I ask to be left alone."

Bhelen says nothing, simply stares at his sister in a reverent sort of awe, as if she is suddenly glowing or something of that nature. Yet he begins to nod, perhaps against his better judgement, the siblings do not break their gaze until the assembly is adjourned for the day.

Lazuli bids the Wardens farewell until they're to meet again on the battlefield, and sets her sights on home. Even knowing her husband won't be there just yet, she does not want to deal with her brother, or the questions of each nobleman. She longs for Gorim, to be in his arms, to hear his voice, even knowing he'll be furious with her.

She is able to sneak her way home, breathing in relief she changes out of her armor and waits. Outside her front door, she hears cheers from the streets celebrating the declaration of a new king. Religiously disinterested, Lazuli instead curls up on the sofa and allows the low rumbling from the streets to sooth her into sleep.

It is not long after that, she is awoken by the very man she has been waiting for, light dim yet there he is. Exhausted and beautiful before her.

"Never do that again, Lazuli, may the Ancestors help me… I thought you were dead." She reaches up to kiss him, but while she intends to linger, he pulls back. "Do you understand me?"

"I do, please forgive me husband, I did what I had to."

"The Wardens were capable enough."

Laz chuckles, "That's up for debate."

"I'm serious."

"As am I, stone only knows how they will manage to save Ferelden." She takes either side of his face in her hands and kisses him once more. "I love you, Gorim. I love you, I am alive… And I have regained my health."

"What?" He asks breathlessly.

"One of their mages managed to heal me." She says her smile only growing. "I am well, I am alive, and I am home."

Gorim quickly pulls her into his arms, breathing her in as he does so. Kisses harsh and passionate, like this wall of rage he has built up is finally crumbling in her hands. She is before him, whole once more, and he intends to savor her while she is still here.


	20. Imogen

**With the Warden's successful in their quest to gain support from the Dwarven Empire, they are finally able to call the Landsmeet. With this they hope to finally unite Ferelden against the darkspawn.**

The days go by much faster than Imogen had originally anticipated, having steered clear of the Alienage she almost forgets to return. That is until the rumors reach her, that the Alienage is closed off, no one in and no one out. This she has to see for herself.

So she does, slipping in and out of the crowds of Denerim's Market Place, she meanders up to the city gates. There she finds a guardsmen berating a serving girl.

"No one passes into the Alienage until further notice."

"But I must see my children, please."

"I have my orders, knife ear, your kind can't be trusted to be let out."

"I beg your pardon sir, but my children are-"

"I said no one passes."

"That's no way to treat a lady." Imogen says, with a growl walking up to the guard and the servant. "Why won't you let her into the Alienage? You shems seem content to lock us up and away anyhow."

"You want to enter that cesspool too eh? Well you can't, direct orders from King Loghain. No one in and no one out effective immediately."

"And why is it you are so content to keep us among your kind, shem?" Imogen asks harshly.

"There's a plague spreading about the Alienage. You're lucky we 'shems' as you call us, are trying to help your lot."

"What are you on about?"

"Why should I tell you? Be gone now, go attend to your mistress or whatever it is you're doing."

Imogen narrows her gaze at the guard, "Is there a reason you wish to withhold information?"

"I said be gone."

"And I asked a question."

The guard steps forward, chest puffed out, eyes intense, as he reaches out to smack her. She retaliates, kicking around herself, until her ankle hooks his hand. In one swift motion, he's pinned beneath her lithe body, arm firmly behind his back. The serving girl has run into the alienage during the commotion.

"If I were in your position, I'd talk." She says watching as the market goers turn their gaze on her.

"Knife eared whore bitch! I'll never know why Loghain sent healers for you lot!" He squirms in her grip.

"Who did he send for and why?" She asks, other guards have suddenly taken notice of her, having pinned a guard beneath her.

"How should I know who!?" He bucks her up, releasing himself from her grasp. She is quick to her feet, spotting a group of four guards, escape routes quickly flash through her mind. Mere seconds pass, as she darts away from men she's angered, running away has become a sort of talent for her. Trapesing her way in and out of crowds, sliding in and out of alleyways until she's nearly out of breath, how she manages to continue getting away from the guards says something about Denerim's guard.

Still, despite having lost the guardsmen, people in the slums of the city still eye her wearily as she approaches the docks. Climbing onboard Isabela's ship, she demands to know where the Captain has gone, being too early for the Pearl, yet too late for her to still be asleep.

Imogen finds the woman in question still in her quarters, doing what, she isn't sure and doesn't particularly care. Instead, she takes a seat on the bed and waits to be addressed, like a child anticipating a scolding.

"Yes?" Isabela drawls, looking at the girl with expectant almost lustful eyes.

"What do you know about the happenings in the Alienage?" She asks.

"Happenings?"

"There are guards telling people that no one can leave, or enter the Alienage. You haven't heard anything?"

"No." She says resolutely.

"Then… I guess I need to find out."

"I suppose you really should." Isabela stands up and tugs the end of Imogen's hair, loosening some of the pulled back strands. "Go on, I'll be still be here for some time yet."

"Well, not here, but I will see you later." She stands up and waltzes out of the room and off the ship. Fire in her soul and blazing in her gaze, Imogen slinks in and out of shadows attempting to find some kind of tip. She speaks with her contacts, tries to make small conversation with tipped off servants, but most of them must have stayed in the Alienage.

Imogen grows increasingly worried when she realizes that Shianni is still in the Alienage, is she sick as well? Is she alright? Does she know something is happening? Has she gotten herself killed?

In an attempt to enter the Alienage, she finds that every single entrance is heavily guarded, not just one guard anymore, there are many at each entrance. Once again, Imogen has gone and made things a hundred times worse. Even if she managed to slip by the guardsmen she'd still have to get back out and Maker only knows how that would go.

Angry and dejected she storms back towards the Pearl, sinking back into her seat beside the pirate.

"I suppose you didn't take down the crown then?" Isabela jests.

"Maker's Breath, woman, would you please be sensitive?"

"Oh, I'm very sensitive."

"You're a lying wench you know."

"It took you so much longer than usual to figure that out love." She chuckles.

Imogen shakes her head, "Something horrible is happening, I should have stayed in the castle, maybe then I'd know more."

"Or you'd make a lovely addition to the Royal Dungeon. As much as I adore you, I do so despise rescue missions."

"Too noble?" Imogen asks, taking a long drink from the mug a serving girl had given her.

"Too much feeling, not enough profit."

"Has anyone ever told you, that not everything has profit?" Imogen has a cruel smirk on her lips.

"Of course it does, everything has a price and a profit. I'm surprised you of all people haven't learned that."

"Not just yet, unfortunately I think I'm getting there."

The two sit in a silence too long for anything but drinking, mead has never tasted so much like desperation.

"Just so you know, I took my ship out for a test run."

"How did she work?"

"Not as well as I'd hoped, considering how long it's been in repairs, but I saw something you might be interested in." Isabela says, vice hushed in a sudden twist.

"And what is that?"

"Well the docks at the Alienage are usually sparse, save a few small cargo ships, I saw something that might be of interest."

"Get to the point, Isabela." Imogen says in a harsh whisper.

"A large cargo ship, looking to be of Tevinter make."

"And that has to do with?" Imogen asks, mind running a mile a minute, that guard had said something about healers and plague. But what would they be doing at the Alienage?

"Doesn't Tevinter still condone slavery?"


	21. Georgiana

**Entering Ferelden's Capital, the Wardens find themselves bombarded with tasks and trials as they begin to plan their final political move. The Landsmeet.**

When she arrives at the Highever estate, she is not expecting to be greeted by a messenger, nor is she expecting to be called to several lunches, teas, and dinners. Yet that is exactly what happens, having sent word ahead of her arrival, the staff has prepared for her, but that also means other nobles have prepared for her as well.

However, she has already made her decision to speak with Arl Eamon, he's kept in contact with her mother, and was always a trusted ally of her father. She sends word to several of the Banns beneath her station, inviting them to supper later in the day, while also informing Arl Eamon of her emanate arrival.

Georgiana sets to work, quickly bathing and changing into a fine dress, knowing that here propriety comes first. Her appearance incredibly important even now, she must not show complacency or any form of rebellion. Now is the time to remain strong and firm, she thinks to herself brushing her fingers along the broach her mother had gifted.

She rides to the Arl of Redcliff's Estate, ignoring the blatant stares and lingering gossip as she goes. It is there at the estate that she spots the royal guard milling about, though they too come to attention as she approaches. While they do not stop her from entering, they look at her with scorn, as if she should know better than to disrupt the Arl's meeting with Anora.

Although, she soon finds Anora is nowhere to be found, instead Loghain stands firm before a large entourage, berating someone or another. Still she walks firmly up towards the Arl and the Teyrn, her presence hardly disturbing their argument.

"You will bow to your king, Eamon, and these Wardens will get what's coming to them."

"Is that a threat?"

"You would wish it so... Good day." Loghain turns away only to lock eyes with Gigi, she feels her soul tremble as those eyes bore into her. This man was once a friend of her father, this man was the father in law of the king, and now she is not sure that this is the same sarcastic man she knew in childhood. This man looks cruel and sour, cold in every way.

"I see Bryce's little spit fire has made it to the Landsmeet, how quaint."

"Dare I say that it is quainter still to see you and I as equals?" She retorts, voice cool despite the anxiety swirling in her gut.

"I am not your equal." He says lowly, walking briskly past her and out of the estate.

"Maker's Breath, Georgiana, is that you?" Eamon says, voice thick yet jovial.

"It is my lord, I am glad to see your health has returned." She approaches, allowing the man to kiss her cheek.

"The way you carry yourself, I believe that I am beneath your rank, my dear. I can scarcely believe how much you've grown. Tell me, how fares your mother?"

"The grief has taken its toll, but she will survive. We were blessed to have survived at all, and she is aware of that."

"Yes of course, my deepest condolences for the loss of your father. Bryce was a good honest man."

She swallows her harsh comment and instead replies, "Thank you, these are trying times, I expect more loss in the coming days, hopefully we can lessen the blow."

He nods, and in the silence she examines the group before her, a hodgepodge of races and talents. The Wardens have even allied with a Quinari and a... man made of rock.

"Georgiana, might I introduce you to The Grey Wardens." He presents her to the large eclectic group, "Wardens this is Georgiana Cousland, the last Teyrna of Ferelden, and an invaluable ally." One by one each of the Wardens introduce themselves, she curtsies to every one of them. A few return the courtesy, while some merely nod or don't even pay her mind.

"It is an honor to meet you all, much has happened since Ostagar." She says, her voice firm and formal.

"Not as much as what's happened to you, if I may." Flynn jests.

"I beg your pardon?" She asks.

"We heard you burned an army, beheaded the general, and flew back to your castle on the wings of a griffon totally unscathed." Wesley smirks at her, elbowing Flynn just slightly.

"Would the both of you stop trying to irritate our allies?" Oris sighs, rubbing his temple.

"My apologies, Georgiana, we have only just arrived in the city." Eamon says, casting a glare to the chuckling Wardens.

"As have I." She says keeping her voice soft.

"Of course, will you be meeting with Banns tomorrow then?"

"Tonight, actually, we will be having supper at Bann Voriall's, I would invite you, but I'm afraid the northern territories would not appreciate your presence."

Eamon lets out a laugh, smiling at her as he says, "Maker, your father would be so proud of you."

"That is my intention." She says humorlessly.

"Alistair, Warden Brosca, would you come with Georgiana and I to my office? I believe we have much to discuss." Eamon holds out his arm to her, which she takes out of courtesy, following him away from the main hall and into the study. Eamon has clearly not sent word to his servants of his arrival, she eyes the furniture still covered in sheets and wonders what agenda he'll attempt to push on her. She wonders what her father would have her do.

His office is much more put together, despite the general disarray of the Estate, books already opened, and documents strewn about the room.

"Please sit, my lady." He offers her a chair, opposite that of his own. "Alistair." He waves the man over. Georgiana cannot deny that this Alistair is an attractive man, though he reminds her of someone she cannot name. Eamon is very intent on this one Warden, she isn't certain why. Upon further examination she notices that the golden armor he wears, bears the symbol of the king.

"That armor is very… intriguing, if I may." She says, catching his gaze, amber eyes both shocked and confused.

"I- uh… Well, th-thank you, my lady. We've been picking things up along the way." He chuckles nervously, hand reaching up to muss his hair.

Looking back towards the Arl, she notices him shake his head. "So, the Landsmeet, I wanted to discuss with you in private." The dwarf stands beside Alistair with a smirk, the two share a moment of eye contact before chuckling quietly.

"Let me be frank, I have come with my own agenda, and I have no intention of being swayed from it." Gigi says firmly.

"Might I ask what that agenda is?"

"I want Howe's head, and I want a proper ruler on the throne."

"Two things we can agree on." Eamon smiles.

Brosca clears his throat before speaking, "My lady, forgive my interjection, but the Wardens-"

"Will have my full support, and whatever aid I can offer." She says, waving him off. "Whatever the political state of the country, the blight comes first, as it always has."

"I… Thank you, my lady." Brosca says.

"Now, Eamon, you were saying?"

"I will be as plain as I can, I intend to put Alistair on the throne." Eamon laces his fingers together as Alistair sighs heavily.

"A Warden, on the throne? For what purpose?" This awkward stuttering man, a king?

"Alistair is Maric's son, it is his birthright."

Gigi looks again at the Warden, no prince, and realizes. "Maker's Breath you do look like him."

"Right, can we just hurry this part along." Alistair shifts from foot to foot.

"My apologies." She says turning back to Eamon, "So, your thoughts, Eamon?"

"I agree that we need a strong presence in the Landsmeet. Might I ask how you feel about Anora?"

Gigi has to bite her tongue some as she speaks. "I think that any person who allows another to rule in their stead is not fit for the throne. She has now done this twice, once with Cailan and now her father. I would not trust her."

"And who would you see ascend the throne?" Eamon asks.

"I hadn't thought about that, though I see you have."

"Indeed. It seems that you and I think very much alike."

"Don't hold your breath." She scoffs, the humor still evident in her tone. She can almost hear her mother warning her; be careful, keep allies where you can find them.

"So, we have the support of Highever?"

"I cannot guarantee the others in the north, but I will see what I can do. I'm afraid not many people know of you, Alistair, it will be a hard sell." She does not mention the fear she has in her heart at the mere idea of speaking with the Banns, especially about this.

"Well, we Warden's better start making a name for ourselves." Brosca says with a smile, Alistair still looks nervous, and Gigi cannot blame him.

"Your voice in the Landsmeet has more weight than you know, Georgiana, Highever has always been opinionated and has always managed to push for compromise. You must use you position to its fullest."

"Believe me, I intend to, Couslands are not known for their civil tongues after all." She says, "Apparently I'm a spit fire."

Eamon laughs, "Yes, your family has a long line of outspoken, purposeful leaders. I am pleased to see that this legacy will not end just yet."

"Indeed." She says resolutely, near ready to wrap up this meeting. Gigi has come to Denerim on her guard, determined to not allow outside influences to derail her agenda, in this moment she recognizes how carefully she must tread around Eamon. First she must meet with other Banns see just where their support lies, and then she will act of her own accord.

"I would like to ask what your intentions against Howe are." He says before she can think to excuse herself.

"The man committed treason, I would  _like_  to see him devoured by darkspawn, but a hanging will do just fine. So long as he receives justice I am content."

All three men look at her in shock, Gigi recognizes the cruelty of her words, but that swine deserves nothing less.

"What would you have done to him?" She asks when the silence is too much to bear.

"He will get what he deserves, my lady, I assure you." Eamon says solemnly. "I must ask, are you afraid of retaliation? I mean, do you think, potentially, he would attack your estate here."

"If he knows what's good for him, he will stay away. Although if he had even a semblance of a self-preserving thought he would not have dared to attack our family."

"I meant to ask, do you feel safe? I know that this is your first time in Denerim unaccompanied. I want you to know, that you are welcome to stay here should you feel the need."

"Thank you for your kindness Eamon, but… I cannot allow my own fears to get in the way of what must be done. I need to be strong, I hope you understand."

"Of course. Forgive me for not asking sooner, my lady, but would you honor me by dinning with us tomorrow evening? Perhaps after you've wrapped up any teas or socials?"

"I will consider it, I find myself pulled in many directions at the moment. Thank you for the invitation."

"My lord!" A little elven girl rushes into the room, her mouth running a mile a minute, begging for the Arl's help. Anora has been captured by Howe, and she is afraid for her life. Gigi wishes she could stay to listen to the whole issue, but she knows that she'll be late if she does.

"Oris, get the other wardens and bring them here, we will discuss what to do then. I'm sorry to cut this short, Georgiana, but I must deal with this matter."

Gigi stands up from her seat, "No need, I was preparing to leave. I mustn't be late for dinner with the northern Banns."

"Of course, Alistair, if you would see our guest out." Eamon bids her goodbye, as Alistair holds the door open for her.

Once they are standing in the hallway she offers a small smile, "You don't have to escort me, it's just to the front gate."

He chuckles, "I think I should anyway, you know, don't want the Arl scolding me for something so simple."

She laughs as well, "If the Arl is still scolding you, I would reconsider my station." Slipping her hand into the crook of his arm, she allows him to lead her out of the estate. "If you don't mind my asking, what is the state of the blight?"

"Uh… I would say dire. Blights are usually dire, right?"

She laughs lightly, "I suppose so."

"If you don't mind me asking, why were you not at Ostagar? I've heard rumors that you are quite a force on the field of battle."

"My brother along with most of our army were at Ostagar, they are presumed dead."

"I'm sorry for your loss, a lot of brave men and women died that night."

"I believe a lot more will if we don't put a stop to this madness." She says, lifting her skirts to mount her horse.

"You uh… You would really support me in the Landsmeet as king?"

"I will support you Alistair, if Eamon thinks you're capable, I've no reason to doubt him. Nor do I think Anora belongs on the throne, she gave up her title the moment she allowed her father to take control."

"I thank you for your confidence, my lady… I don't know what to say." He looks down, voice gentle and just a bit hopeful.

"Say nothing then, prove your worth, and stop the blight before it begins." He has yet to let go of her hand, and upon realizing this, he clumsily kisses her hand before stumbling back.

"I uh… Will uh… Good bye." He marches right back into the palace, rubbing the back of his neck as he goes. Gigi chuckles to herself, spurring her horse off towards her own estate, thoughts running faster than her horse. Who would have thought that she of all people, would consider treason against the crown?


	22. Lazuli

**With the Wardens in Denerim and an alliance struck up with Highever, they return to work, in an attempt to gain favor among Ferelden's noblemen. It is then they are tasked to save the queen from the hands of Arl Howe.**

Some time after the Warden's departure from Orzammar, the city finally takes a collective sigh of relief. On Lazuli's part, people have stopped berating her for information on Caridin. Now, everyone has switched their focus to trade and the impending war. Things worthier of their time, in Lazuli's opinion, she has spent much of her time informing the Lord Shaper of her findings, what the Paragon told her.

It isn't until Gorim mentions to her, that she realizes how she has not spoken with her brother since he was crowned king.

"I would like to see you speak with him darling. Preferably before leaving for the surface." He says this in the early hours of the day, as she helps him into his armor. An intimate gesture considering her station, but this is how it has always been since the day of their marriage.

"I know you would husband, but I am not so determined to give him the satisfaction." She says tightening the leather straps of his breast plate.

"He's getting married you know. To the casteless girl you spoke of, supposedly she's pregnant. If this is true you will need to stand with him during his ceremony."

"I know… That does not mean I wish to do so."

"She's a kind woman, regardless of her station, Bhelen has chosen her."

"Again, my position is not against her, I am however, against my brother."

"While I cannot blame you, there is also little to gain from remaining upset with him."

"Merely because he's king?"

"No, believe me, I would never put it past you to contend with any king." He chuckles, turning around to face her. "If for no other reason, speak with him because I am still his second."

She shakes her head with a smile, "You infuriating man."

"Can you blame me? Look at who I married."

"Be careful, my father will return from the stone to teach you a thing or two about the woman you married."

"He won't need to if I've caught you in the wrong mood." He places his hand still without a gauntlet on one side of her face, admiring her for a moment before kissing her lips. This action tender and domestic, despite everything the two of them have fallen into married life with a rare sort of grace. "I love you, my heart."

"I love you." She returns, fingertips grazing the back of his neck, a tightness coils in her stomach, there is too much armor between them. As desperate as she is for him, she continues to dress him, all soft eyes and lingering touches. A promise of later activities, when he returns home.

"Promise me you'll come see him, for at least a few moments, please Lazuli."

"Has he asked after me? Is that why you are pressing the matter?"

Gorim sighs dejectedly, "He has. Frequently… Why don't you come to the palace with me? Hmm?" She huffs looking up at her husband with playful eyes, in an attempt to hide her irritation. He grabs her chin and give her a shake, "Don't look at me like that."

"Consider yourself blessed, that I care so deeply for you. Otherwise you'd have been dead a long time ago." She says with a laugh, "Fine, I'll accompany you." With a smile, he kisses her, when she attempts to pull away he meets her lips again, and again. A game meant for the young new to the taste of lips upon their own, not two grown warriors. Yet Lazuli laughs in such a way that might be mistaken for a giggle, the two of them might in fact have been in their teen years.

The way they act around one another is as if they have never lost their youth. Like they are still eighteen years old, fumbling in armories and store closets for just seconds of skin to skin contact, sneaking out of banquets for a moment of relief. All playful, innocent love that does not know a world of heartache. Even when the reality remains that all they have known is pain and despair.

"Give me a moment to change." Lazuli finally manages to stop his barrage of affection for a moment. He merely takes a seat on their bed, watching her change into a soft silken dress, she almost feels uncomfortable with him eyeing her that way. Even knowing him as her husband, she has rarely experienced his audience while dressing, rather than the reverse.

Once she is ready to leave, Gorim leads her out of the house and towards the palace. She bites her tongue as they go, many guardsmen and noblemen make their way through diamond quarter, the crowd is thin this early. Upon entering the palace, Lazuli is overcome with nostalgia, this has not been her home for quite some time now. Still, she feels a part of her drawn to these halls, as if her soul understands that this place bore her.

"Wait here for a moment, darling, I'll inform your brother you've come to see him." With a gentle kiss on her forehead he leaves her outside Bhelen's quarters. Something stirs inside of her, anger or perhaps frustration?

With hardly a minute having passed, Gorim returns with a calm smile beckoning her to follow. Hesitant at first, she takes his arm and allows him to lead her into the room. There Bhelen is waiting with that look in his eyes, the one where he's uncertain and he hates being uncertain.

"Lazuli, it is… Good to see you." He says, hands on either side of his war table. Words stuck in her throat she nods resolutely. "Gorim, leave us."

"Your Majesty." He bows and turns to leave, but not before placing a kiss on his wife's cheek.

The siblings stand in quiet Bhelen stuck staring at his sister, and Lazuli staring at the floor, neither willing to speak just yet. On Lazuli's part, trying to decide what it is she's feeling, how she should go about this, how does one speak to their sibling, when they honestly want nothing to do with them?

She decides to speak up anyway. "So… Gorim says you've asked after me."

"I have." He nods.

"I can take care of myself, I'm no longer a toddler, or as it were, an invalid."

Bhelen shakes his head, "You were never an invalid Laz."

"No… I suppose not." She sighs walking up to the table he had previously been laboring over. "How's king… ship?"

"It's… Hard. But worthwhile."

"Just don't go forgetting who put you here, I'd hate to see you get a big head." She says, "Well, bigger."

"You didn't put me here." He mumbles like a child.

"No, I suppose that honor goes to your brother in law."

"So, you heard about that."

"Please, I knew of her pregnancy before father's death."

"H-how!?" He asks, wide eyed.

"Because, I have two thoughts that have nothing to do with myself." Despite herself, a smile starts to grow on her lips.

He runs a hand through his hair, "I have asked her to marry me… And before you ask, yes even if she does not bear me a son."

"I was not going to ask. Must you always think so little of me?" She huffs angrily, "For someone who knows so much you really are a stupid man."

He looks at her with a familiar furrowed brow, yet looks just about taken aback. "You-"

"Somehow in your head you've decided that everything you do is almighty and right, you look so deeply into issues and people. You think you know everything, but you don't."

"You're not perfect either."

"I don't claim to be, unlike you." She rounds the table, stalking towards him with a seething sort of rage. "How dare you assume your word is divine? That everything you do is just and good? Let me be plain; You. Are. Not. Just like the rest of us."

"I am your king."

"No matter what title you hold, you will always be my brother first. If father and Trian can't be here to smack some sense into you then I will have to suffice."

He has a sort of frustrated smile as he says, "You care too much, Laz."

"Maybe but not for you."

With a shake of his head, he turns from her, walking away just a bit, before stalling then turning back around to face her. "Do you think you'll ever forgive me?"

She wants to say no, to continuing railing him with harsh words and deliberate statements. Yet for some reason she pauses before saying, "I suppose that remains to be seen, doesn't it?"

This really does take Bhelen down a notch, mouth falling open dumbly, eyes wide. "What?"

"What?" She asks, her composure remains even as her brother seems at a total loss.

"You think… Someday you may forgive me?"

There are a million answers,  _you're not worth hating. It would not be lucrative to hate you. Not forgiveness per say. Father would never forgive me. I suppose not._ Though, none of these feel right coming off of her tongue. Why doesn't she have an answer?

Eventually Lazuli says softly, "In spite of what you think of me, everything that you have done is nothing new. I've had attempts on my life before, and I may continue to have them for the rest of my days. When it comes down to it… I'm tired, Bhelen, I just want to settle down and leave all of this behind me. If I don't burry this now, I may end up living with it for the rest of my life. I don't know if I can live like that."

The siblings stall with silence, their matching blue eyes locked on one another, an odd mixture of Lazuli's calm and Bhelen's shock. It is easy to see the million thoughts racing through Bhelen's head, and then a crack of a smile.

"How do you do that?" He asks, "Every time I think I've won…"

"What are you talking about?" Her voice is calm with a sharp edge to it.

He takes a few steps toward her, "The assembly is considering you for paragon. Once the excavation is complete. The Lord Shaper says your discoveries are life altering."

"No." She says resolutely, thoughts wandering back to Branka and Oghren. She can't become that, she won't allow it. "I don't want that."

"You don't really have a say, funny enough." He chuckles, "All I'm saying is that I become king, and you become paragon. It never ends."

Eyeing him wearily, Laz sighs, "The world has gone mad."

"And I'm afraid things will only get stranger from here."

Another silence falls between them before Laz asks, "So, you're going to be a father."

"Don't… Don't remind me." He says heavily.

"Nervous, are we?"

"I am…"

"What, afraid that all you've done will come back to bite you in the ass?"

He sighs, "Partially, what if my children suffer half as much as we have?"

She snorts, folding her arms, "Well you've got a good twenty years of peace and quiet before the storm."

He shakes his head, "Trian will ensure my children are more rebellious than the two of us combined."

"You worry too much about things out of your control, brother."

"Have you and Gorim thought about children just yet?"

"No… If you'll recall we weren't exactly married under the happiest of circumstances. It hasn't even been a year since our union."

"You're right… I just wondered…"

"You'll be alright, Bhelen, you're a lot of things not all of them good… But you do always manage to get by and make it seem like you'd planned it all along."

"You make that sound like a bad thing."

With a smirk she suddenly steps forward and ruffles his hair aggressively, yet laughing all the while. "That's because you think every little word coming out of my mouth is to insult you little brother."

"Stop that!" He shoves her back.

Still laughing she says, "Aw, did I make you upset?"

Practically holding his breath to keep from laughing, Bhelen shakes his head. "No!" Though the moment the words leave his mouth he too dissolves into laughter. Lazuli thinks that there is still a thick wall between them, named after her brother's ambition. But for now, she laughs at her little brother, hoping that with this, her world will not fall out from under her feet.


	23. Imogen

**And it was that after being captured at the Arl of Denerim's Palace, the Wardens are rescued by their companions. Now with the Queen safe and sound, Arl Howe dead in a pool of blood, they look for their next step in their quest.**

Imogen can't say she's exactly thinking clearly when she storms into the Pearl, but she's got a semblance of a plan. At the very least to free Shianni, why didn't they just go to Highever when they had the chance? Why did they decide to play at revolution?

And there's Isabela, talking up a group of travels, trying to swindle them out of gold, information, or perhaps their pants.

"Isabela, I need to speak with you." She says firmly walking up to the pirate, eyeing the party wearily.

"Imogen, good to see you." Isabela's curls bounce around her face as she beckons her. Approaching wearily the elf allows her friend to grab her pulled back hair, twirling it around her finger, "I'd like to introduce you to the Grey Wardens."

"Why?" She asks. A low rumbling laugh catches the elf's attention, gaze turning towards the source, two elves with face tattoos smile at her. "Are you fucking with me?"

"I believe that honor is mine." One of the elves, accent thick as he laughs heartily. "Allow me to introduce myself, Zevran Arainai of the Antivan Crows, at your service."

Isabela lets her hand fall to Imogen's shoulder, "I've told you of Zev before, we go way back."

"You talk about me? I'm flattered, Bela. Especially if you speak of me to such a fine specimen."

Imogen wrinkles her nose at him as the other elf finishes his conversation with Isabela. "So, are we going to begin our lessons or no?"

"Indeed." Isabela eyes him hungrily.

"I'm not here for-"

"Imogen, lighten up, let Zev take care of you… And I'll see you in a few hours. Then we can discuss your latest crisis of conscious."

"Isabela!" Imogen groans at the pirate whisks away the other elf towards the docks. And she is left with the remaining group, three irate looking mages, a bored Qunari, a man made of stone, two awkward looking warriors, one a man the other a dwarf, an archer girl with her hands covering her face, and a dwarf lying unconscious.

"I'm not a common whore." Imogen folds her arms over her chest.

"Not at all my dear, no money involved, just pleasure and a release, Bela believes you are in desperate need of." He steps forward and begins brushing his fingers behind her ear, palm flattening against her jaw and neck. Suddenly, she feels small in comparison, even if he is not so much taller than she, there's an almost looming presence about him.

"Zevran don't assault the poor girl, please." One of the mages scolds.

"Ah, Wesley, it's not assault you see." He chuckles before leaning down to kiss her, almost like a sword art in its own right. Disarming, insultingly so, her knees feel weak and she's almost forgotten what she's doing here. Damnit, he's got the same charm of Isabela, only worse as Imogen is not practiced in her defense against this Zevran.

Eyes wide and breathless when he pulls back, she tries to slap that stupid grin off his face, but he grabs her hand and kisses that too.

"Why do you look so shocked, my dear? Have I perhaps embarrassed you?" He chuckles, "Come, let us continue this discussion in private, no?"

Still at a loss for words, he hoists her into his arms and whisks her into one of the empty rooms.

"You can put me down." She says, having finally found her voice.

"And let go of a beautiful woman? You wound me." He sits her on the bed, and before she can scoot back from him, his body looming over her own he says. "Isabela said you've run into some troubles and are in need of assistance. Outside of the bedroom as well, but we can worry about those things later."

"She spoke to you of the Alienage?"

"Indeed. Though she did not make it seem as dire as I image you see it."

"That sounds like her."

"Even so, she and my companion will take their time. Why not use some of our own time properly?" He leans back down and captures her lips.

It is rare moments like these when Imogen wishes she were better at the art of lovemaking. Times she lays with Isabela and thinks she should be better at this by now, or when she takes some of the Pearl workers to bed that by now she should be better at loving. At the very least, better at touch, finding soft parts of the skin that shiver beneath her. Wonders if her kisses will ever be immediately disarming, and thinks that by now they should.

Zevran is unfairly skilled against her, large warm hands, somehow finding every tender spot along her body. Kisses like electricity and maybe it's knowing that Isabela likes him that endears her so much to this man.

Whatever the case, the two of them spend more time together than Imogen had originally intended, and the grin on Isabela's face make Imogen feel defensive.

"I told you she's a treasure, Zev." Isabela chuckles.

"I don't ever doubt you Bela, I know better." The rest of Zevran's companions have taken to drinking and some play a game of cards.

"Can we please stop with the innuendos and get on with our quest? We do not have this kind of time to continue fooling around." The elder mage of the group stands up, Imogen is reminded of the older women in the Alienage, wagging fingers and dragging young children by the ear out of the streets. The tips of her ears feel sore thinking about it.

"Then come." Imogen says, "I expect you've heard of the strife in the Alienage."

"There's always strife in an Alienage." Says the human knight.

"So, you have not heard? Loghain has closed off the area, calls it quarantine, but I have reason to believe it is something else entirely."

"I have heard rumors that the Alienage has been particularly quiet." The archer girl says softly, "But I do not see what that has to do with Loghain."

Imogen explains how she worked in the palace for some weeks, tells them everything she's heard. Explains her observations and Isabela's watching as each of them process this information.

"And this has to do with what exactly? I want to help but we're on a bit of a time crunch." The knight says looking troubled.

"I thought Ferelden's couldn't stomach slavery." Imogen cannot believe they're arguing this at all.

"If we can prove this, Loghain hasn't a chance." The archer girl says to one of the dwarves, he nods resolutely to her.

"Are we really going to just follow the woman Zevran bedded not moment ago?" The dark mage asks, throwing up her arms.

"What can I say, the only people I bed are dangerous and important."

"Shall we go?" Imogen does not wait long before striding out of the brothel, the Warden's stumbling behind her.

"Barkspawn, come on boy." The male mage calls out, a Mabari perks his ears and trots over to the group.

"You… named your dog… Barkspawn?" Imogen asks eyeing him.

"Witty isn't it? It's a joke, get it? Like-"

"I get it." Imogen promises, clasping her hands and gazing at the sky, "Andraste if you're up there… just end it all right now."

"Believe me, I've been praying for weeks, I think that the gods are just enjoying the show at this point." The elf that bedded Isabela stands beside her as she guides them towards the gates to the Alienage, making direct eye contact with one of the guardsmen.

"You there, stop where you stand." The guard snarls.

"Aw, have you been looking for me? How darling." Imogen snarks, though the wardens seem apprehensive as if he was speaking to them.

"I demand you turn yourself in, by order of the king and crown." The guard narrows his gaze cruelly at her.

"Which king? Your dead one or the false one?" She retorts hotly.

"We have business in the Alienage. Stand down." The elf who bedded Isabela steps forward.

"By who's orders?"

"Arl Eamon and Teyrna Cousland." He returns, voice commanding, she has never seen an elf demand such attention and respect.

"That elf girl is wanted by the city guard for murder."

"This elf girl is under our protection and you will let us pass or you will face the consequences from our patrons."

The guard stands aside, albeit reluctantly, and allows them passage. Once inside the walls, the elf looks at her and says. "Murder?"

"I may or may not have killed an Arl's family… But in my defense, it was my wedding day." She realizes this isn't an apt explanation, but the words fall out of her face before she can think it through. Though, the look on his face is enough for her to leave that story as is.

"Zevran, thank you for getting the scary one on our side." The knight says.

"I was happy to oblige as always." Zevran chuckles.

With the wardens in tow, Imogen maneuvers her way into the Alienage, upon finding Shianni the cousins cling to one another in a moment of reverence. Shianni frantically explains all that has been happening, confirming Imogen's suspicions, that these men are enslaving her people. Before she has a chance to brashly demand these men fight her, the Dalish elf, Flynn convinces her to sneak them in through the back of the building.

It all goes by in a sea of red rage and blood on her hands, as she and the wardens ravage their way through the slavers compound. Imogen has never been so angry, so full of revolting fury that she feels it up to her fingertips.

They face the head slaver, him attempting to cut a deal with the Wardens, that he take more of her people to Tevinter, bastards. Fucking bastards.

She doesn't let him finish talking, she starts slicing and stabbing at him, but with his magic he's enchanted her weapons. She hears fighting going on behind her, as she yells with each attempted stab.

Seeing the panic in his eyes, she drops her weapons and kicks him square in the chest knocking him back and stealing his breath before she lunges at him like a wild cat. With him pinned beneath her weight, as small as she is, there is no room for him to move. Punching and scratching, screaming like an animal, he begs for mercy beneath her. Cries out for help, desperate and terrified. She feels his blood under her nails, she wants him dead.

Suddenly, she is ripped off of him, but not by one of his guards, instead by the man made of stone.

"Mercy, please. Mercy." The slaver whimpers on the floor.

"You don't deserve mercy." Says the warden dwarf, voice low and wounded. The dwarf, with blazing eyes, slits the throat of the man, slow and calculative. Imogen relishes in seeing the blood seep out of his neck, taking with it the life in his eyes. Maybe the Maker is not so cruel after all.

The Wardens continue to search the compound, and with another bout of luck find Valendrian and the others trapped and ready for shipment. Imogen finds it difficult to keep her composure when he informs her that some of the captured elves have already been shipped off.

Upon returning to the Alienage, Imogen feels exhaustion weigh down on her shoulders, too much anger leaving her nothing but dejected. Even speaking with Shianni feels tiresome, she instead promises to return tomorrow to catch up with one another.

In the mean time she walks back to the Pearl, little does she know, she is being followed by an Antivan elf.

"You look tired, my dear. Too much in one day?"

She stalls at his words, turns to him and says, "No, just about the same as usual… And I am so tired of this being my normal."

With a smile he approaches, takes her hand and pats it gently. "Allow me to ease your mind."

"I'm not so sure I'll be an apt partner at the present."

He shakes his head shortly, "Did I ask for partnership, no, no my dear, this is for you."

She lets him guide her into the Pearl, watches Isabela smile devilishly at the two of them, and soon she is taken abed once more. Everything else becomes irrelevant.


	24. Georgiana

**With the Warden's gaining numerous allies and the Alienage free of the slavers hold, the time for the Landsmeet grows ever nearer.**

Just after her meeting with Arl Eamon, at supper that evening, an attempt on her life is made, in the form of poisoned tea. Gigi would not normally thank the Maker for such a small thing as having a sweet tooth, yet she does just that when the tea begins to boil when the sugar makes contact with the liquid. Her host, appalled at the sight, demands the maid who served it to her be arrested immediately, and while the situation is jarring she finds herself frightened by other things.

Old arls and banns making subtle comments about her status, being unwed and in a very prominent position of power. Leaving with brief mentions of alliance, that have her skin crawling with distaste. That daily she is approached by men and women of the Landsmeet demanding to know her position on every matter that is expected to be discussed.

Every breath under intense scrutiny, she sometimes feels her breath catch in her throat and she swears a noblewoman turns up her nose. There's a sort of heaviness to the air she has not known before, that leaves Gigi with more than a sense of unease. She spends more time in the Chantry than she thought she would, not even necessarily praying, but it is the only place where she feels clam. In the sacred space nobody approaches her.

Eamon rescheduled their dinner, due to some unforeseen circumstance with the Wardens. Upon arriving at the Arl's home she notices the estate has opened up, rich wood furniture and lush couches that had previously been shrouded in sheet.

"Georgiana? What on Earth are you doing here?" A gentle voice drenched in distaste, Gigi nearly snaps her neck turning to see none other than Anora. Perfect posture, hair tight in the back of her head, and brows raised in question.

"Anora?" The younger asks turning to face the woman full on.

Anora's gaze melts into a sincerity Gigi isn't certain she should believe. "Gigi, I'm surprised you're here, have you accompanied your father?"

Uncertain if this is a deliberate jab or a genuine question she responds, "No, my father has died."

Anora turns her head, "Oh? I hadn't heard, my condolences."

"I extend my own condolences to you, Ferelden may have lost her king, but you lost more than any of us."

"Well… I… Thank you, Gigi."

"Are you going to dine with Eamon and I this evening?" Georgiana asks after a moment of glancing over the queen.

"I should like to… But I have not yet decided."

"Then might I ask what you're doing here?"

"I have been staying here for the past week, my father thought it might be lucrative to keep me silent."

"That sounds like quite the predicament." Gigi says.

"Indeed, you must know the strife of being a woman in power."

_I can't say I do,_ Gigi thinks, yet her tongue keeps her in line. "I believe that perhaps it is more the power than anything."

Anora nods, "Well, thank you for the invitation, but I think I should rest, the Landsmeet is tomorrow after all."

"Yes of course." Georgiana agrees, "It was a pleasure to see you, Anora."

"And you Gigi, perhaps once this is all over we could have tea."

"I would like that." The ladies curtsey to one another and go their separate ways, Gigi hurries towards Eamon's study, startled by the news Anora has just shared with her. She knocks tentatively at the door, and waits to be invited in.

Once inside the small office, she spots the wardens Brosca, Mahariel, Amell, and of course Alistair, surrounding the large desk. Eamon at the head of things, barely even glancing at her as she enters.

"Ah, Gigi, I wasn't expecting you." He tosses his spectacles onto the documents before him, scooting his chair out to greet her.

"My apologies, I can wait in the dining room if you prefer."

"Nonsense, my dear." He stands, greeting her customarily. "Will you wardens be dining with us this evening?"

"I am going to take a few of our companions out for some last minute… odds and ends. I will see you in the morning." Oris responds brusquely, turning towards Gigi and giving a swift bow before exiting the room.

Flynn skirts by as well, though not acknowledging her nearly so much, leaving Wesley and Alistair darting glances at one another.

"Right… Wesley go inform your remaining companions that supper is ready, if you please." Eamon gives a narrow gaze toward the mage.

As the remaining three begin to head toward the dining room, Georgiana speaks up. "I ran into Anora on my way to your study Eamon. She mentioned she has been staying here."

"Ah, yes, she has been for the past week or so."

"For what purpose?" She asks, voice gentle and practiced. "She mentioned her father thinking it wise to keep her silent, but did not elaborate."

Eamon stays silent patting her hand and letting out a soft breathy sort of chuckle, "That is quite the tale, I'd prefer the wardens explain, they were present not I."

"Don't make me feel a fool Eamon, I was beside myself when I saw her. It's been five years since I last saw her, I hadn't a clue what to say." She laughs masking the bite threatening to enter her tone. One of the maids has pulled out her chair, and upon taking her seat, she notices Eamon and Alistair sharing glances.

Soon a silence clouds the room, more tension than she expected upon asking a simple question. Wesley returns shortly with two women in tow, a redheaded girl and an elder woman. Georgiana cannot recall their names, but their presence makes this all the more uncomfortable.

She looks at her plate and begins eating slowly, methodically, the quiet too much to bear. Until Eamon suggests Wesley and Alistair tell their story from this week. They both begin to nervously stumble through the tale, covering one another when the ums and ahs become too frequent.

Gigi tries to follow, but the two men tell at least three different tales at once. Following Loghain acting the part of a traitor in imprisoning his own daughter, isn't so certain she understands the point of Zevran breaking them into a dungeon. Soon with a glance towards Eamon, she notices he has his head in his hands.

"Andraste Preserve me, would the both of you stop talking." Eamon says.

"Essentially… Anora was imprisoned, we released her, killed Howe, got kidnapped, and revealed the Regent's use of torture against innocents." Alistair says it all so fast she nearly doesn't understand him. Yet she manages to catch on enough to feel sick to her stomach.

"Torture… So that's what he meant." Gigi thinks back to a conversation she had with one of the many Bann's. Positively livid, he demanded she tell her districts to refute Loghain's rule due to unspeakable horrors. She hadn't a clue what he had meant at the time, but now…

"You are not as shocked as I assumed you would have been." Eamon says, "Especially about-"

"I am not so selfish, Eamon, truly… I have been speaking with many affected by Loghain's reign and they deserve to be sympathized with."

"I don't know what to say, my lady."

She nods eyes falling to her lap, "The world has gone mad."

"That it has… but we must have courage." The older mage speaks, surprising Gigi for a moment.

"I'm tired of having courage." She chuckles, "I wish it was sufficient enough to admit our fear and be done with it."

"Perhaps someday we can." The two women share a melancholy smile before Georgiana demands they change the topic. Instead discussing plans for the next day until Gigi wants to rip her hair out. Claiming fatigue, she manages to evade after supper tea.

Wesley escorts her to her carriage and this is when she asks, "Did he suffer?"

After a moment of hesitation he responds, "In a way, he died quickly… But the scorn in his eyes made it seem as though his last moments were a sort torture in itself."

"I suppose that will do. Perhaps this is my lesson to learn."

"Revenge is never as satisfying as you think." He says, voice stricken.

"You have experience."

"Unfortunately."

"I'm sorry. It is a burden most of us must bear."

He nods, helping her climb into the carriage, "The world will never be the same, after tomorrow."

"For the better. We must have faith in one another."

"You are correct… I'm just not certain about the outcome of tomorrow."

"No one is but the Maker himself."

"I… Of course. Good evening Gi."

She startles at the name but does not mention the impropriety of the term, instead she starts for home. Head beginning to drum as she tries to focus on her thoughts. Instead she manages to pray, for guidance, or maybe just to ask for help. Maker knows they'll need all the help they can get.


	25. Lazuli

**The Landsmeet is in session. Denerim holds its breath, awaiting the declaration of a new leader.**

"Have you decided what you'll wear to the wedding? I know that you think you aren't so important but as my husband you need to look the part." Lazuli says firmly, having just finished her dress fitting, walks out to begin bossing her husband about. "You need to order soon, love, once this Blight business is over there'll be a lot of celebrations to attend."

"I never expected you to care about fittings and clothes. Can't I just wear armor?"

She closes the gap between them, kissing him briefly before saying, "No, you can't."

"You care very suddenly about all of this."

"I do, Bhelen wants me to meet with him about the war plans."

"Yes, yes, yes. I know. Do tell me if the sky swallows you whole."

Scrunching her nose at him she says, "Oh don't be such a worry wart."

"I wish I could go with you." He says, voice low and sad.

"We've talked about this darling, you are needed here."

"And what kind of husband lets his bride rush off into danger without immediately following behind?" He takes her hands and squeezes them tight.

"A smart one, who can cleanse my wounds and hush my cries." She smiles a teasing sort of smile, yet he remains melancholy.

"Lazuli, please be careful. Stay smart, stay safe."

"There is no reason for you to worry."

"Come now, you can't believe that."

"I can and I do, Gorim, please don't be so frightened, I'll be alright."

"You don't know that. Just be careful, for me."

"Stop this nonsensical concern, people go into battle all the time."

"Not everyone goes to fight a Blight, and on the surface no less." He says harshly, taking a breath, he collects himself.

"I'll only be gone for a week, two max…"

"That's not what I'm worried about."

"I know." She says softly walking forward just enough that he can wrap his arms around her.

"Why did you have to sign up for this?" He sighs, pressing his cheek into her hair.

"I don't know, to be honest." She admits breathing in his warmth. "It seemed like a bright idea at the time. Although…"

"If you're having second thoughts I can-"

"No, it's not that. I just… when all of this is over, I really am hoping to be left alone."

"You know that if you go to the surface, battle the Blight and rediscover lost knowledge, no one will leave you alone. You'll be a paragon, and not that you don't deserve it, but every issue will need your counsel. How many paragons have gotten to live their lives unscathed?"

"I recognize that…" She sighs, "I guess I was being idealistic. I keep thinking if I just do enough, if I satisfy them to a point, I can finally be content."

Gorim whispers soft words into her hair, hands running gently up and down her spine, trying to offer a comfort he's not certain of.

"In a way I feel anxious to go, like this was something I was meant to do. Silly as it sounds."

"I don't believe it is."

"I have to help stop this Blight, please don't ask me not to go."

"No, I couldn't stop you, try as I might."

In the silence, Lazuli focuses on his heart beat, feels the gentle thrumming against her hand. Eyes closing instinctively as her body relaxes against him, the way a child could easily fall asleep on their mother's lap.

"Are you happy?" She asks, hushed tone hardly a breath.

"Perfectly happy." He responds, tone equal to hers.

"Then… you're alright with all of this? My inability to sit still for longer than a minute? Constantly the first in line to be devoured by darkspawn?"

He chuckles, "That's why I fell in love with you, my heart. You're the most difficult dwarf in all of Orzammar, ready and willing to fight your way through battles that aren't even your own. Even though at the heart of it all, all you really want is to live a life of peace, I am sorry that you have not been allowed this yet."

With a chuckle she grasps his hands, twisting her fingers around his. "What do you want, darling?"

"You to promise me, you'll come back safe."

"Alright, I promise you I will return home. Safe and sound."

"Now, was that so hard?" He questions with a laugh.

Rolling her eyes, she leans up to kiss him. "You realize I meant something else, didn't you?"

"Of course, I did, I just wanted you to give me your word first." She gives an unamused pout, which elicits a laugh from Gorim. "So, what was your other meaning?"

"Do you want more from me?"

"As in?"

"Do you want to start a family?" Instead of the shock Laz was expecting, Gorim looks thoughtful, pensive even. She begins running her mouth off, "I know these past few months have been nothing but madness, that our marriage was not even under the noblest of circumstances. But we're here now, we are married, and I feel as though we should at the least give it some thought.

"Bhelen asked about it… I'm unsure of his feelings, not that I care what his feelings are on the matter. I just want to have a proper marriage. Not that we haven't been doing such, of course not-"

He covers her mouth with one hand and laughs brightly as she roughly removes it. "You're going on about nothing, you know."

"Well, it's not like you were helping at all." She pouts resolutely.

"We have all the time in the world to have children, Laz, we don't have to start anytime soon."

"I didn't say that, I said do you want them?"

"Someday, sure. I could stand to have more of you in my life."

"Really?" She asks, "I don't think I can stand myself somedays."

He kisses her cheek with a chuckle, "To be quite honest, I chose you, I will continue to choose you. Nothing is going to change that, no kings opinion or blight. For now, I am content."

She returns with a kiss brief yet lingering, as her lips part from his, a glint shines in her eye. "Go order your dress clothes."

"Yes ma'am."


	26. Imogen

**The Wardens burst into the throne room with a flourish and gasp. All nervous energy and paranoia, Maker knows what's to happen next.**

Imogen will claim that she just wandered into the Landsmeet, not that she particularly cared for the politics of it all. More the show, yes that's it, she came for the show upon Zevran's recommendation. Much as she loathes the notion that this random foreign man holds such an influence on her, she cannot deny he has the same infuriating ability to persuade her as Isabela does.

Just the night before, he and Isabela's lover, whom she has since learned is named Flynn of the Dalish, waltzed into the Pearl and demanded drinks and card games. After some time, and a hurried lustful tumble in a drunken state, the suave elf had convinced her. Slip into the palace and watch history be made.

So here she is, on a balcony having slipped in beside some of the more notable Banns and Arls, she knows none of them, except a mere few by face from the Pearl. If anyone thinks she should not be here, nobody says a thing, instead they listen to Loghain soliloquy about nonsense. All of Imogen's restrain goes into biting back her rage, this is the face of the man who sold her people into slavery.

Then like a whirlwind, the Wardens burst into the hall, the large group looking dignified as ever. Heads high and proud, like they know the world is watching their every move, literal life hangs in the balance.

The Wardens make their advance, declarations of Loghain's treachery, all around her nobles denounce the once proud general. Stirring inside of her, a warmth for these people she almost never expected to feel. Then, a proclamation of Loghain's selling of her people into slavery, these proper men and women around her are in shock.

Demanding Loghain be tried one-woman steps forward, young by her look, eyes bright and determined.

"We will settle this by traditional means, a duel between the Warden's Champion and Loghain."

"I don't need a child trying to run this Landsmeet."

"She is the highest lady in this Landsmeet, she will act as our arbiter." One man argues.

"This is but her first Landsmeet, she does not know proper protocol." Another shouts back.

"She has declared rightly, Loghain is only biased because he wanted her dead!"

"I say it is Eamon truly pulling the strings."

"I, can and will speak for myself." The woman in question keeps her voice sharp, even startling Imogen just a tad. "I am fully aware of my own personal inexperience, but do not bring into question who is speaking. I speak for no one but myself and the people in my charge."

"Then it is decided, Warden's, choose your champion."

The group glances at one another but the knight stands firm walking forward to face his foe. Imogen doesn't remember him, he was not exactly memorable, but now she wonders if he was significant at all. He wastes no time, throwing on his helm and bearing his blade, she can't help but think he's merely trying to look brave. However, the other wardens dart glances at one another as if they did not come to the same consensus.

Imogen finds herself almost floating towards the banister, watching with great intent as the knight faces the king regent. Was this man always so aggressive? Attacking like an unchained animal, vicious and wicked, every single attack just as intense. He truly wants to kill the king regent.

It is then after a momentary quarrel, that Loghain falls to his knee, removing his helmet he looks up at the knight. Almost proud in a way as he says, "You surprise me boy… Somehow, you still have some of Maric in you. Maybe there's still hope for Ferelden."

"There is more than hope, you were too blind to see that." He raises his blade, ready to behead the man before him.

"Wait, Alistair!" The dwarf lunges forward, grabbing his arms to keep him from slicing down.

"What are you doing?" The knight whips around, growling lowly at the dwarf.

"Now is not the time to kill-"

"What are you talking about!? Now is the only time!"

"Gentlemen, please." A man with a thick accent approaches the two, "There is another way."

"No! There isn't, he has committed high treason, slaughtered hundreds of us!" Alistair has discarded his helm and Imogen can only imagine the fury behind his gaze.

"Listen to me, Loghain is a great warrior, let us put him through the joining. If he does not survive then he has been treated justly, otherwise-"

"No." Alistair says hotly, "Being a Warden is an honor not for the lowest of creatures like him."

"Alistair, have you gone daft man?" Flynn shouts, "We need all the help we can get, bolstering our numbers will only help us."

"There are five of us, one more does not matter."

"We need numbers Alistair." The mage warden says, voice sympathetic, "Much as I loath to say it, Riordan is right, we need the help."

"No, we need justice."

"The Grey Wardens define themselves by not becoming involved in politics." The dwarf shouts, voice near booming

"Then what in the name of the fade are we doing man!? All we've done is involve ourselves in politics!" Alistair protests vehemently.

"But we do what we must to contend against the blight! We ally with anyone to bolster our numbers, by the stone we're all criminals!" Flynn and the mage look awkwardly between them, as the dwarf rubs his neck nervously. "Okay some of us are… Alright, me, I am a criminal."

"My father has made mistakes, some worse so than others but he deserves a chance to atone." The queen steps forward eyes steeled and stern.

"Anora, you know as well as any of us, we cannot interfere with Warden's business." The woman from before says, her gentle tone a breath of fresh air from all the shouting. Imogen hadn't noticed how close she had gotten to the noble woman, but now she notices how pale she looks.

White skin beginning to sink into otherwise lovely features, long hair braided back in what Imogen can only assume is traditional style. Looking every inch a noble lady despite the look of worry behind her eyes, this lady holds herself differently than the others around her. Like she has something to lose, or perhaps more to gain. For a moment she laughs to herself, Isabela would like this one, just her type.

The noblewoman glances at Imogen, and a gentle smile glides across her lips. A hot flush creep up her skin, glancing back down at the wardens.

"They are like school children, no?" She says.

"I… agree, my lady."

"You have fought alongside them, have you not?"

"How do you know that?" Imogen looks at her in awe.

The woman smiles beautifully, "I am the highest-ranking woman here, people talk."

"I see." Imogen isn't sure she likes this woman, but she cannot focus on the argument beneath her any longer. "And you are?"

"Georgiana. And you?"

"Imogen."

"Ah, that was the name." Georgiana glances down at the men, caught up in an argument of right and wrong. "It's a wonder they've gotten anything done, look at them."

"You're telling me, they named their dog, Barkspawn." Imogen folds her arms.

Georgiana sighs heavily, "The Maker certainly has a sense of humor."

"That he does…"

"He deserves to die!"

"When does it end!?" The mage of all people shouts back, "When does this cycle of justice versus vengeance end!? Don't you see, Alistair? We've spent all this time cleaning up his mess! Does it really matter what happens to one man!? One! Yes, he has committed heinous acts, people have suffered and died beneath his reign, but when did we become the hands of our Maker!?

"We haven't! We are human beings, and if we take his life what do we gain!? Do you not recall Redcliff!? The days after, when I sought counsel and your response to me was that the Maker demands sacrifice, perhaps this is yours. Let this cruelty that holds you break away, this is not who you are Alistair."

"You told me, all of you told me, that I needed to grow up. To be strong and take matters into my own hands, why now are you choosing the retract your statements of my weakness? To fit your own agenda!"

"Gentlemen, please!" Georgiana scolds, almost like a mother at her children, the whole room suddenly at her beck and call. "If you must take so much time to decide this, put Loghain in the dungeon to await your decision. Should you decide not to recruit him, there he shall await trial. Now, however, we must put a ruler on the throne and stop the coming blight."

"Here here!" A few spattered shouts echo through the hall, Georgiana dips her head then turns back to Imogen.

"Men need a bit of women's help from time to time, much as they like to believe otherwise."

"I wholly agree." Imogen says with a chuckle, Loghain walks proudly out of the Landsmeet while the wardens still fuming at one another reconvene.

Flynn begins to question both Anora and Alistair, while Imogen turns to Georgiana, "So… What would you like to see happen to Loghain."

"I honestly don't know anymore…" She says softly, "He has harmed and killed so many innocents I can't say he should not be punished. Yet the law says he should be executed."

"I'd like to see him hung."

"I can understand that, slavery does not sit well with me in any circumstance. Revenge just hasn't exactly gone well for me."

Imogen nods, ending their conversation then and there, looking back down at the wardens.

"It seems we are at an impasse." The lord beside the wardens says, "Warden Mahariel, you speak for the Wardens, and as such you will decide for us."

"Hold on just a moment, Eamon the people of the Landsmeet are proud noblemen and women. This our country it should be our choice who rules her." Georgiana steps forward.

"I agree, the Wardens have done us a great service, but we are still the men and women of this Landsmeet. The decision should be ours."

"I also agree."

"Very well." The man glares at Georgiana, but does not hesitate. "Shall we begin the vote?"

"I believe the first step should be petitions and once those conclude a vote shall be cast." Georgiana nods.

"Why did you do that?" Imogen asks, unable to bite her tongue.

Georgiana smiles, "Because my voice is no others, and they all must see that… The truth is, these people care greatly for their positions. Excuse my tongue, but stroking their cocks can only help us."

Imogen chuckles lowly at the word cock coming out of such a woman, the maker certainly does have a sense of humor.

Once the man on the floor has spoken only two other ask to speak, one of whom being this Georgiana, after deferring to the second man to speak, her voice takes over the whole of the audience.

"Lords and Ladies, as we have all seen these past few months Loghain has taken very nearly every step to soil our good country, and all she has gained ever since his victory alongside King Maric. I do not hold these things against Anora who was not in control at the time. I do however find her actions until now most troubling, as a woman in power myself, I have never fancied the idea of hiding behind another in order to accomplish my own means."

"Are you calling me a coward?" Anora interrupts.

Georgiana gives her a glance, but no practiced smile graces her features, "I am, in fact. Only a coward allows not only her life partner to dictate her rule, but manipulates them into taking the fall should your plans go awry. And then you do it once more, allowing your father control of the throne when you could have stepped up and been the queen your country needed."

"And what would you have done? With your father unrecognizable and the murder of your husband?"

"I would have done exactly as I did when my father became unfit to remain in his station. Take up arms, and fight to uphold the ideals he once held. That is all we can do, and as leaders we cannot allow our personal fears to strike us down. Ferelden looks to us to keep her safe and free, hiding behind your father when things get difficult is not in line with these truths."

"What would-"

"Nevertheless, Anora has proven to be an apt ruler in times of peace, while I personally would not trust her as a queen during this crucial time. She does in fact deserve the chance to try again, she is the rightful heir to the Teryn of Gwaren, I believe reinstating her these lands would be more than sufficient."

Silence over takes the hall for a moment before Georgiana makes it abundantly clear she has finished speaking. As the applause swells Imogen hears her swear under her breath followed by a distinct, "Maker have mercy on my soul… I hope I have done rightly."


	27. Georgiana

**Thus the vote takes place in the Landsmeet, the hall held in a deep petulant silence awaiting the naming of Ferelden's new king.**

Gigi feels like she wants to throw up, when the Landsmeet comes to the conclusion to place Alistair on the throne. Deciding that as soon as she's able, she'll lay down for a nap, maybe cry a bit, something to calm her frayed nerves. She did not plan on demanding the people of the Landsmeet vote for a king, truth be told she had panicked. Seeing the Wardens argue amongst themselves made her nervous about allowing these men to decide the fate of her country.

Something stirred inside her, pushed her to make this decision partly her own, hopefully that was enough. The elven women, Imogen slipped out the moment the vote had been decided, and Gigi was left to defend herself against the hordes of nobles; wanting to thank her, set up luncheons, or even just to ask her opinions on the matter.

With no other want than to disappear, she braves through every polite conversation until she is finally free of these people and their questions. She returns to her estate, tired and nearly ill from all that has happened around her, she retires for the evening.

A letter arrives that night, informing her that the armies are meant to meet at Castle Redcliff, she is almost relieved. A battlefield will be a breath of fresh air from all of these murky politics. Sleep comes easily, morning more so as she prepares to leave for Redcliff. The morning is cool and wet, and near perfect for travel. It takes only a few days for her to reach the largest city in the southern Bannorn, and she is both grateful and put out to be greeted by Eamon and Isolde.

The woman seems more reserved than her usual self, not that Gigi doesn't mind this, Isolde has always been strict on the younger girl. Even so much as insulting her mother's training, and the way her father allowed her to 'run wild'.

"I'm surprised at you, Georgiana, I did not expect you to lead your armies here." Isolde says to her as they await the arrival of the Wardens.

"Who else would do it?" She asks.

"I… It is just that you are the last of your line."

"I am not, mother and Oren are still alive"

"My apologies." Isolde murmurs, the silence startles and pleases Gigi. The Wardens enter the throne room, Teagan and Eamon at the front, followed directly by Alistair and Flynn. They are already neck deep into conversation, wildly discussing how they'll manage something or other.

Eventually she catches on, they've predicted wrong, Denerim will be under attack in the next day or so. The wardens are discussing what to do when Alistair raises his voice.

"We'll force a march come daylight, we've no other option. Oris, have the dwarven armies arrived yet?" Gigi hasn't seen the Wardens since the Landsmeet, but she can't help but notice a sudden shift in Alistair. His voice is sharper, more certain, the other Wardens beginning to defer to him. She only hopes this trend continues.

"They arrived but an hour ago." He responds.

"Flynn, go inform the troops of our plans, and Wesley you'll tell our companions, yes?"

"Of course, your majistorialness." Warden Amell smirks sauntering off towards the lodgings for their companions.

"I should like to speak to you Wardens when you get the chance." Riordan says voice tired and if she didn't know any better, she might name his tone desperate.

"Of course." Alistair nods to him, dismissing his fellow wardens, then he turns to Gigi breath filling his chest. "Will your men be ready to march?"

She smiles at the slight twinge of nervousness in his tone, "Of course, your majesty."

"Ah… right…" He begins to walk away, but turns back and offers an arm for her to walk beside him. "I've been meaning to thank you, for the Landsmeet."

"Thank me?"

"You acted as a voice of reason amid chaos… Not just that, you alone forced the Landsmeet to decide, that was theirs not that of the wardens. We have been forced to make a great many decisions these past months and it was a welcome change to see others take their fate into their own hands. Though, to be quite honest, I did not believe anyone would vote for me of their own volition."

"Do you doubt the wisdom of people who care only for bloodlines and safety?" She chuckles, looking up at him, a sort of unease she does not recognize settles across his features. "I did not mean that against you, I mean to say that many people wished the decision to be made for them. With a strong voice and a proper argument anything can be done. I personally believe that you are a powerful man. You could do a great many things, Alistair, know that I stand by my decision to put you on the throne."

"I appreciate that… Truly. Without your support I might not be here now. Silly and childish as it sounds, I've always been an inconvenience, nothing but trouble. Now I'm everything Eamon and to some extent Loghain feared I would become."

"I was also rather inconvenient I suppose."

He scoffs, "To whom, my lady?"

"Howe and his plans to take my homeland."

Alistair nods, pauses for a moment and then says, "Are you certain you do not wish to return to your family? This war has already taken much from you, I'd hate to see it take your life as well."

"No, I wish to fight with my men, as I have all the while."

"I imagine your men would follow you to the ends of the world." He smiles at her, "Am I correct in hearing that your army is also comprised of elves?"

"You are."

"That is quite admirable of you."

"You understand, do you not? That we must look for help where it may be offered to us?"

"I do, not so many people would be so open minded."

"And my putting you on the throne did not tip you off to that?" She teases with a soft smile.

"You are correct of course." He laughs nervously.

"Of course, I am." She says, "I'd be dead if I were not."

"Maker's Breath you have the bite of a fishwife you know."

"And you've the tongue of a bull in a market place." She counters with ease, watching amused as he blushes darkly.

"I did not mean any ill-will, I'm sorry."

"I know you didn't, do not feel the need to apologize."

"You are quite forgiving, my lady."

"Either a gift or a curse I'm afraid I shall never know. I find it tiring to remain angry, there are much better things to do with my time."

"That must be incredibly useful, no?"

"Indeed." Before she can speak up Warden Oris interrupts their conversation.

"Alistair, get your ass moving, Riordan wants to speak with us." The dwarf stands by the stairway up to the Arl's chambers.

"My ass is moving quite nicely thank you." Alistair chuckles before turning back to her. "Forgive me my lady, I'll not be seeing you again until we have arrived in Denerim, I'm afraid."

"Maybe you could wash out that mouth of yours by then." She watches him blush a bit at her words, which prompts her to laugh. "Don't worry I am not so sensitive an audience, but the other high ladies of the court might turn up their noses at such things."

"Would I be wrong in asking for your forgiveness then? Or should I continue to curse and corrupt your delicate womanly ears?" Alistair smiles.

"Go corrupt your fellow Wardens, Brosca seems to be growing impatient." Gigi is about to step away, when Alistair seems to hesitate. Trying to decide the proper way to bid her goodbye, a kiss on the cheek, or simply the hand. The pause is awkward and far too long for anyone's comfort, she even darts a glance at Oris who has taken to pretending to smash his head into the door frame. Eventually he takes her hand and kisses it gently.

"Goodnight my lady." In an instant he's gone, even past Oris.

"He's uh… like that sometimes." Oris presses his lips into a firm line. "He's kind of like a puppy that wasn't all there, and it was cute when he was young but he kind of grew up that way and now here we are. So, uh… sorry on his behalf."

She manages an uncomfortable chuckle, "No reason to apologize… He's trying."

"That he is. Sometimes I want him to stop trying. It's too bad I find him difficult to hate."

"You do?"

"Like I said, he's a puppy, thinks the world could be all happiness, but sometimes that goodwill is infectious."

"That is good to hear." She nods at him, "Thank you, Oris, for your service to Ferelden."

"It's been an honor, my lady."

She watches the dwarf disappear, and in the silence he has left in his wake, all she can do is wonder. What will tomorrow hold?


	28. Lazuli

**The battle begins fierce and brutal the Wardens leading a charge into the city. Denerim is aflame, and her occupants are the vile creatures from beneath.**

Lazuli Aeducan, second born to the late King Endrin Aeducan, sister to current reigning King Bhelen Aeducan, is on the surface. Of all the places Laz imagined herself, the surface was not one of them. As a child in Orzammar, she used to play games with her brothers as if they were sucked up into the sky.

Now, here she stands, all this sky above her and a city of flames before her army. Would her father be proud to see her now? Or would he be in shock at just how far she has gone?

No matter how jarring the experience of being on the surface, she has known her station, stay strong stay alert. Even as some of those under her command worry and panic, she remains their stable leader.

She has never seen so many darkspawn, and on the surface no less, yet here they seem to pour into the city despite her militaries best efforts. The Wardens stationed her army at the front gates, culling the influx of spawn entering the city. Along with Sten, Oghren, and the Golem, she fights an endless hoard, every second a moment she fears for her very life.

A fear so pure and obvious she wonders how time can continue tumbling on and on. Men and women falling around her, yet somehow, she remains firm. Resolute even in the face of chaos. Is chaos even the right word to describe this? Madness is not a strong enough word, but somehow neither is chaos. This is beyond any expectation she ever held, beyond story book tales of the blights from olden days.

She wonders if this could potentially be her last few hours, if this could possibly be all of their last few hours. How likely is it that they should all emerge alive? That anyone here would come out alive? With the surface aflame, and wracked with darkspawn, there's no way that Ferelden could possibly recover.

Shaking away these thoughts, she turns toward her men, begins issuing commands as if she is merely a mother issuing out chores. With an ease she despises, they fall into their positions upholding the gates of Ferelden's capital noting but sky and smoke above them. Though she is nearly grateful for the pluming smoke over her head, reminds her of home in a strange way.

This charge, holding the entrance to the city, starts out fairly simple, until the second wave of the hoard arrives. Almost like an eruption of lava, flowing downhill, descending on her army in an endless stream, as she sees this she sends a prayer to the stone. The rest of her attention overcome with intensity and focus, this is the most important battle of her life.

Lazuli thinks tht everything else she has faced to this point has to have been a mere game. Her brother's death, Bhelen's accusations, ailment, marriage, finding a Paragon, partnering with the Wardens. All of it just a game. This is real war, raw and untamed in a way she is certain no one back home will ever believe, should she get back home.

She shakes her head mid fight at the thought, no she can't think like that. Gorim is waiting for her, the man who has taken her hand and loved her everyday since. Who held her during the sweeping pains of ailment, and even when she made every mistake possible, he welcomed her home with open arms.

She cannot leave him alone, she instead bolsters her energy, eyes glancing to the Warden's companions. Sten and the Golem fight furiously on the battlefield, even knowing that Ferelden is not their home. She cannot imagine anyone fighting with such ferocity that did not have anything immediate to lose.

Then she spots Oghren, so reckless and frantic, like he cannot kill one darkspawn fast enough to get to the next. There is an ease in his movements she does not understand, does not want to understand. A sort of grace that should not exist in the drunkard expresses itself plainly. Here is where he is meant to be, on the surface fighting against the greatest evil of their generation.

Seeing these things fills Laz with a new determination, that this is her final trial. That this is her task, and once this is all over she can finally return to Orzammar, and spend the rest of her days in peace and domesticity.


	29. Imogen

**The Warden's rush to Fort Drakon but not before eliminating the Archdemon's generals.**

When Imogen's life turned upside down all those months ago, she never dreamed that she would be facing down darkspawn as her home burns around her. Never imagined that the manifestation of evil would stand before her, shell shocked with her blade sheathed in its chest.

Shianni has picked up a bow, and has awkwardly begun firing at the spawn, clumsy and uncomfortable. Yet the cousins stand beside one another aiming and attacking their way through the monsters that have made their way into the Alienage. There comes a point where Imogen wonders if this is the end of her, of the Alienage, of the world itself. If all that has happened these past months was, so she could live just a bit more before she dies.

As if Andraste herself interfered, the Wardens break into the Alienage and relieve the cousins of the immeasurable burden.

"Ah, Imogen my dear, you look incredible coated in the blood of your enemies if I may say so." Zevran says with a hearty laugh.

"Maker's Breath, could you be any more of an ass?" Imogen sighs.

"No. He really couldn't." Flynn chuckles beside him.

"The spawn are trying to enter through the south gate, could you help with that?" She asks, placing her hands on her hips.

"Anything for you." Zevran smirks at her.

"Then get moving, the gate can't hold up much longer." She says beginning to walk backwards towards the gate.

"Wait, you should stay here, defend your people." Flynn says.

"And allow you to flounder about alone? I don't think so." She turns on her heel and races towards the gate, feeling the presence of the Warden's just behind her as the gate falls to pieces.

As much as she hates to admit that the Wardens may have suddenly become competent, she honestly believes that without their help, she and Shianni would have died. Admitting this does not mean that she trusts them to defend the Alienage alone, after all these are her people, her family. They are her responsibility she must defend them.

The inflow of Darkspawn to the Alienage is almost nearly cut off, once the Wardens begin their work. They have become much more decisive, every move they make calculated and executed with ease. She feels strong in this knowledge, that despite her better judgement they have helped her save her home. Looking around at her fellow elves fighting among the Warden's army, her heart swells with a pride she did not know she possessed.

When the battle is nearly done, just a few straggling darkspawn here and there, Flynn turns to her with a smile. "Get your people to safety, Zevran will stay behind to help in your defense."

"Trying to get rid of me now? I'm shocked." Zevran smirks at the Dalish elf.

"I am. Keep that face looking pretty" Flynn gives a wink and a salute, before backpedaling back towards the group of wardens.

"You say that as if it involves work." Zevran laughs. Just as the conversation ends, the archdemon flies overhead destroying the connecting bridge between the Alienage and the Palace District. Imogen has on Instinct covered Shianni's head and watched as the Wardens gather their wits.

"Well, it seems the Maker does not appreciate your sense of humor at a time like this." Imogen says sharply.

"Ah that may prove to be true." He looks at the sky with a smile. "Now, who needs saving? I'm feeling particularly generous and we should take advantage of the opportunity before it's too late."

"I couldn't agree more." Imogen says.

With Zevran in tow, Imogen and Shianni begin to gather the remaining elves, hoping above all hopes that the Wardens will manage to save not only their city but all of Thedas.


	30. Georgiana

**And then, it was over.**

Georgiana had marched alongside the Wardens up until the entrance to Fort Drakon, she has been left to keep the darkspawn from entering the fort. If the past few months haven't been enough of an indication to her distaste for battle, today certainly does. Even leading her army now, there is a bitter taste in her mouth, anger and frustration boiling inside of her as she cuts down enemies with a dangerous finesse.

This battle is taking far too long, too much blood seeping into the roads and her eyes can suddenly only see red. The sky has gone dark, and her eyes are playing tricks on her it seems, every now and then she manages to meet with one of her generals give them instructions and then fall back into the fray.

She thinks she's gone insane when she spots none other than Teyrn Loghain fighting beside one of her soldiers. In a moment he is on the ground at the feet of a spawn, ready to claim the life of the esteemed general. Some form of instinct claws its way out of her, forcing her feet forward, knocking into the spawn and ending it's life in one swift motion.

She offers a hand to the Teyrn, "Are you alright?" He does not take her hand as he stands, instead he eyes her suspiciously. Realizing she doesn't exactly have time for this, she shoves him aside and spears a spawn that had been rapidly approaching.

"What are you doing?" He asks.

"Leading, you are familiar with the concept no?"

He scoffs, "I meant you're helping me." Without even a glance to his side, he knocks an approaching spawn to the ground with his shield then stabs his sword into the beast. "Why?"

"Because it's what my father would have done." She says.

"Even after everything I've caused?"

"Despite everything, I believe that we all deserve the chance for redemption. Perhaps you should familiarize yourself with the concept." She says dealing a blow to a spawn, her sword getting stuck in its ribs, so she has to wriggle it out.

"Maker's Breath how fitting I make my final stand with a Cousland, always so self-righteous your clan was." He laughs, the stoic man with a gaze of ice, actually laughs.

"As I recall, Mac Tir's were always up their own asses."

"Not always, girl, but as of late… I cannot argue."

Suddenly, interrupting a banter Gigi never imagined herself taking part of is a violently loud explosion. She looks towards the tower of Fort Drakon before Loghain covers her head with his shield. In the brief second, she looked, she caught a glimpse of light so intense the sun must be falling from the sky.

The ground begins to shake beneath them, as the sound reaches its climax. As quickly as the chaos began, it ends, ground still beneath them and the only sounds to hit their ears is that of the retreating spawn. Gigi straightens as her men begin to cheer, eyes darting back up to the tower only to see a halo of smoke emitting from the remaining pillar of light.

"Maker have mercy." She mutters, breath soft in her chest. Loghain looks up toward the tower and then at her, as she steps forward to begin issuing commands. Once her men have sectioned off, groups of scouts and those to help the wounded she turns back towards Loghain.

"So how did you escape?" She asks sheathing her sword and replacing her shield.

"The guardsmen decided I was more help to them as a general than spawn fodder." He says voice stern and sword still bared.

"I see."

"Though by the looks of things, they appear to be answering to you now."

Gigi nods to him reluctantly, "That's what tends to happen when you've acquired a reputation."

He narrows his eyes at her just slightly. "Are you mocking me."

"Never." She manages a small smirk of a smile.

"You're Eleanor's alright." Loghain says, "By all means, lead the way, my lady."

She turns back towards her men, and begins navigating through the damage, receives status reports from all over the city. It's over, the Darkspawn are retreating, the armies through out the city are finishing off any stragglers before reporting to her. This all feels strange, the war is over, the blight is over, and where does Ferelden go from here?

Denerim is in shambles, though reports say that soldiers have begun to put out the flames, and the chantry (which is mostly in one piece) is taking in survivors for the night. How many died before the army reached Denerim? How many more will die due to injuries or collapsed buildings? How much more death can Georgiana bear on her shoulders before the weight sends her toppling over again?

Loghain has been hovering behind her as she floats from general to general, ever watchful almost like Rosco sat at her heels. What a sight she must be, the famous general Loghain Mac Tir following behind her with his sword bared like a personal guardsman, and a war dog with blood on his paws, wagging his tail happily.

Once again, she surveys the area, glancing at each face she can spot and spending a moment of her time to pray for them. Then her eyes fall on the doors of Fort Drakon, and there, emerging from the fort is the Wardens a sense of dread fills her and the world falls silent.


	31. Lazuli

**Ferelden begins to recover, the Blight is over, but at what cost?**

Lazuli could not imagine herself staring at the body of a deceased casteless and finding herself grieving, though a lot of things she never imagined for herself have been happening recently. Still, Oris lies dead before her, and she feels more distraught than she did when Trian was laid to rest.

Alistair, who has yet to have his coronation, stands above the body as Laz's army wraps the corpse in white linen. He will be given his final rights in Orzammar, likely named Paragon, and then his body will be taken to the Warden base. The other companions have come and mourned before retiring for the evening. Alistair has stayed, sad eyes and heaviness in his shoulders, she hasn't had the courage to say anything just yet. She waits until the body is prepared, placed in a box and then taken from the room.

She looks at Alistair and he back at her. "He was a good man, you should be proud he was in your ranks."

Alistair nods, "He did what is expected of Wardens… He deserved better."

"Perhaps he did, and yet having known him, I doubt he'd have had it any other way."

"You're right about that… Will you be staying for the coronation?"

"No, though I imagine my brother will be extending an invitation to you soon."

"I don't mean to be rude, but I'm not sure I'm ready to return to Orzammar any time soon."

She nods, "Neither am I if I'm honest, I was just getting use to having sky above me."

"Thank you, Lazuli, Ferelden owes you a great debt."

"Not any greater than I owe her… Ferelden is my home. She deserved saving."

The two stare at one another for a few minutes more, unable to decide what to make of the other. A human king and a dwarven princess, grieving over the loss of someone who shouldn't matter. Someone who was born low and built upon lies and crime, yet here he is revered as the savior of Ferelden. A hero some might say, his Paragonhood cemented for certain. Lazuli feels a sense of shame fall on her shoulders, Paragonhood should be left for the dead, but she is sorry how thankful she is for this.

She leaves shortly after that, her and her men marching back towards the Frostbacks. As they go, people along their path come to pay homage to the Warden who saved them all. Some leave gifts and others ask to pray, while still others come and thank the soldiers passing through.

Lazuli isn't sure she understands this idea of thanking a corpse. What made him a worthy man is gone from this Earth, he's beyond the stone now, there is no use in paying homage to a body with no life inside of it. The thought upsets her greatly, makes tears well up in her eyes, why is it that no matter where she goes death hovers just behind and takes more away. But never her, oh no, she must remain to see the wreckage left behind.

Orzammar's gates are wide open to welcome the warriors home, only two thirds of her men survived, more than many would have expected. Yet she feels the weight of this loss in her chest.

Entering the Hall of Heroes is a solemn affair, the walls of paragons staring at the man this army is returning. The man who gave his life for a world that held only distain for him. There is joy in the streets, people shouting and applauding, and then as the body of Oris passes, people begin to kneel. Bowing to the Dwarf revered throughout the country, and she too finds herself in awe of all that surrounds her.

The Lord Shaper, Bhelen, a heavily pregnant Rica, and Gorim stand in the commons, right where the road diverges towards the varied sectors of the city. All of Orzammar has gathered to greet the returning army. Lazuli bows to the king, her husband, and the Lord Shaper.

Once she stands back up she begins to speak, "These men and I return to Orzammar, the Blight quelled, and our ancestors honored."

The Lord Shaper nods, "Who have you brought before us?"

"One Oris Brosca, a child of Orzammar, casteless turned Grey Warden, and now Hero of Ferelden." She gestures for the body to be brought forward. Rica turns her eyes down to her feet, tears streaming freely down her cheeks. "I present to you, the finest Orzammar has to offer."

Rica steps forward, walking towards the body of her brother, unashamed in her grief as she looks at the wrapped remains of her brother. With no thought spared towards the action, Lazuli grabs her future sister-in-law's hand. Rica, seeming unsurprised by the motion, squeezes Laz's hand muttering some form of a prayer, or maybe a thank you.

The Lord Shaper begins to give the final rights to Oris and all those who gave their lives in service of Ferelden. By the end, Rica is sobbing and shuddering uncontrollably. For a moment, Laz is jealous of the love Rica held for her brother. It is unlikely Bhelen would have this reaction for her, neither one of them was so troubled by Trian's last rights.

The body is then placed in a glass casket to await pilgrims and eventually the Wardens who will return him to their base. His final resting place beside his brothers in arms. Once the formalities have concluded the entirety of Orzammar commences celebration, loved ones reunited and those others who have lost begin their vigils of remembrance.

Lazuli takes Rica by the shoulders and leads her back up the steps towards Bhelen and Gorim. Bhelen wraps his bride to be in his arms, hurrying her away from the sight.

Gorim picks up his wife in his arms and rocks her back and forth before showering her with kisses. The two of them still childish in their affection despite the somber air and quiet mourning in each of them. He swears to the stone and beyond they'll never be apart again, her heart quickens at his words. She believes him this time, that she may finally be allowed peace.

The couple returns home with every intention of remaining together for as long as possible, even knowing they're expected at the celebratory feast. They are quick and heedless in their company, relentless in a way, until they reluctantly pull themselves together and leave for the palace.

The streets are loud and crowded as ever, memories of her wedding day come flooding back to her. Less dancing and more relief fills the air, with a squeeze of her hand, Gorim glances down at her. Eyes soft and gentle. "What is it my heart?"

"I'm happy to be home." She says, "There's no place like quite this."

"I am happy to hear that." He kisses her forehead.

She releases his hand and moves closer to his side, he follows her motion with ease, running a hand along her arm. Holding her close as they walk into the palace, they are greeted by the palace guards and walk into the throne room. Bhelen is already socializing, drink in hand as he goes from friend to friend, he hasn't looked so relieved in what feels like years.

"Lazuli." He says with a hearty chuckle. For just a moment he reminds her of her father, loud and jubilant, no calculation behind his eyes, it is strange and daunting. However, she is not sad at the thought, perhaps what she feels is relief instead. That Bhelen might actually manage to be a good king.

Her brother shakes Gorim's hand before hugging Laz, smile bright. "Are you already drunk, brother?" She asks.

"I've gotten a head start on you for certain, come have a drink." He says dragging her towards a cask. She laughs at his stumbling but obliges him taking a drink of her own. Bhelen has never been the kind of person to be silly with drink, her and Gorim glance at one another with laughter in their gaze.

The night is long and happy, dancing, drinking, and endless tables of food. Eventually Gorim excuses himself from Lazuli's side, so that he can watch over her stumbling brother. She finds this to be particularly amusing. But someone is missing she notices, slipping away from the party she walks towards her old chambers and doesn't hesitate to open the door.

There, Rica sits before the hearth, eyes glassy, furs drawn close around her body, hair matted and messy, from far away Lazuli can see the tear tracks down her cheeks. Lazuli grabs a brush off of the night stand and begins brushing the girl's hair.

"Couldn't sleep?" She asks, voice gentler than she expected.

"No…" Rica responds.

"Hmm." Laz hums softly.

"Have the festivities ended?"

"For me they have."

"Why?"

"I grew bored."

"Ah…" A silence over takes them until Rica's hair is free of tangles, Lazuli places the brush on the side table. Then she begins to braid. "Will this pain ever pass?"

Lazuli holds back every instinct she has, to laugh, to scoff, to sigh. Instead she responds, "In a way."

"Do you miss Trian."

"I suppose… I miss my father more."

"How do you cope?" Rica has turned to her, eyes desperate and wet.

Laz puts on a small smile, "You keep living, and you try your best to do right by them."

"How do you know?"

"I don't know."

"I know how silly this seems, he's been gone for a whole year, practically dead anyway. But now…"

"Mourning is anything but silly." Lazuli says, "It is necessary for healing."

Rica puts her hands over her stomach, "I know Bhelen wants the babe to be named after his father, but… I want to name him after my brother."

"I doubt he'll refuse, to name your child after a Paragon." Lazuli's voice is soft. In a way she can't recall having ever spoken before.

"I… suppose." Rica takes a shuttering breath, "Do you ever ask yourself, how we are meant to survive these things?"

"I did once, yes."

"Did you find the answer?"

"In a way, but it's not an answer you'll like." Lazuli sits beside her sister in law.

"Tell me."

"The truth of the matter is, we aren't meant to survive everything. But what we do survive only shows us the strength we possess."

"So…"

"So, how strong are you?"

"I was never the strong one. Oris was always so brave, a true warrior through and through."

"There is more than physical strength you know."

"I am not strong."

"Perhaps you aren't, but that must be your decision."

Lazuli and Rica stare into one another's eyes, Rica uncertain and frightened, Lazuli nothing but pride and certainty. She isn't positive when she became the person so secure in herself and her own belief, that this is a defining quality. But as she sits in her old room, staring at a girl so broken she's afraid she won't survive, Lazuli feels a light inside of herself.

For the first time in a very long time, everything feels as close to perfect as possible, and with that she elects to feel content.


	32. Imogen

**Oris gave his life for the preservation of Ferelden, the place that bore and shunned him. Until he became her salvation.**

Perhaps she should not have denied the new king of Ferelden so volatilely and so immediately, but in her defense titleholding is not something Imogen needs. Who would listen to her anyway? A loud-mouthed assassin who spends all her free time in a brothel? No, Shianni will take better care of the elves of Denerim.

Truth be told, Imogen had not been expecting an invitation to the coronation at all. Perhaps the shem king had remembered her own wily ways and thought she'd make for a good laugh. Instead she was offered a title. One she immediately refuted and gave instead to her cousin, with not an ounce of hesitation in her.

Valendrian will be thrilled to have someone to work with, and Imogen hasn't a clue where to go. Only knows she can no longer stay here, this city has outgrown her… But where she will go she is not entirely certain.

"Ah, and there's the lovely specimen who has already shown her distaste for Ferelden's new king." Zevran remarks flirtatiously.

"The old one wasn't exactly my favorite either." She says softly as Zevran approaches her. She's been staring out at the city while the king's coronation celebration takes place inside the palace. Night is steadily falling all around Denerim, and the world has never been so at peace.

He tuts his tongue at her, "Such high standards my dear, how have you ever managed?"

"Obviously I didn't." She chuckles, folding her arms as she meets him half way.

"Hm, neither did I." He lets out a loud laugh.

Imogen shakes her head at him, "Then what in the name of the void are you doing here?"

"What does it look like I am doing?" He raises a brow at her, "I'm speaking with a beautiful creature about the audacity of a throne."

"You're friends with the king, no?"

Zevran laughs once again, "But of course, Alistair and I like to ruffle one another's feathers as it were… But events such as these leave me feeling a bit, how do you say… not nervous per say but something similar. Coronations are the perfect opportunity for assassinations."

"Is that all you think about then? Assassination?" She smiles softly.

"You wound me, I'll have you know I also think about sex quite often." She laughs as he raises her hand to his lips. "Tell me, what awaits us now, Imogen? Will you ride off into the sunset to continue freeing slaves?"

"I… Don't know." She admits.

"Perhaps we will become a pirate then?"

"Isabela raised anchor about a week ago, long gone before the spawn arrived, she had some job to do or another."

"That does sound like her."

Imogen smiles at the ground, "I wonder if the Maker is pointing me towards something else entirely… Perhaps I should keep my promise to my father."

"And what promise was that?"

"I promised when all of this was over I'd go to Highever and allow him to marry me off."

Zevran winces shaking his head, "What a terrible waste of talent that would be."

"I agree… But Denerim no longer requires my services." She chuckles. "I have half a mind to travel Ferelden, leading uprisings and all that, but it seems the Lady Cousland is content to carve the way for elven equality, without my help."

"You've met the Lady Cousland? A treasure she is, no?"

"Isabela would have loved to corrupt her."

A barking laugh comes from Zevran, "I agree, wholeheartedly."

"So, I suppose it could be time to retire my blades, pity, I did so enjoy the freedom."

"There is another option you've yet to consider." He smiles devilishly, "I am returning to Antiva, I left some messy unfinished business there. You see, the Crows still live, and they really should not."

"You intend to take down the Crows, alone?" She asks with a laugh.

"Perhaps I could use a partner." He holds out a hand to her, "An exquisite lethal woman, who still craves adventure."

"You think that two people can take down an entire organization of the most notorious assassins in the world? Are you insane?"

"Absolutely my dear, it comes with the job after all."

"You don't think I'd just slow you down?"

"Nonsense, I'll be having to keep up with you."

"What about the Wardens?"

"They've Warden business to attend to, rebuilding and whatnot. I'm not so good at those things. And besides my time in Ferelden has also expired."

His hand still remains open, Imogen places her own in his, "Maker help us, I've just signed up to die."

"Ah, but it will be very fun."

"I'll hold you to that you know." She says as he pulls her into his arms.

"I expect no less." He leans down and kisses her in that disarming way, she's starting to get used to him, to this. To kisses that feel like freedom, for release, and something that if she didn't know any better she could name love and never question it. The way his breath tastes like laughter.

The prospect of taking down the Crows sounds impossible; is an impossible task, but that doesn't mean it won't be fun.


	33. Georgiana

  **Our heroes take a bow and exit the stage.**

"You're simply making no sense, you realize this?" Anora folds her arms over her chest, chuckling quietly.

"I never make sense." Georgiana responds with a laugh of her own.

The two noblewomen are stood over a map of Ferelden, planning the reconstruction efforts, not only in Denerim but the whole of the country. With Alistair crowned king he asked Anora to step down from her title and return to Gwaren, she accepted under a single condition, Eamon not be allowed to act as his advisor. Alistair agreed without hesitation, and the Teyrn was reinstated to her, well in a way.

Loghain Mac Tir was stripped of his title and sentenced to exile in Gwaren, banned from the Landsmeet and the king's court. He will be overseeing the reconstruction efforts in the Teyrn in place of his daughter, while Anora remains in Denerim to assist the new king with his duties. Georgiana will also be remaining in Denerim for a time, the two Teyrna's will be helping their king settle in.

The ladies are dressed in their finest gowns, ready for the ball that started two hours ago, but they've much to plan and discuss.

"You seriously think neglecting the north will do anything but anger the freeholders?" Anora asks.

"I said nothing of neglect, I merely meant to focus our efforts south. Should the northern territories require aide, they'll inquire at Highever, she is far more capable than a crown spread thin."

"Don't tell me you're doing my job for me." The women turn to the door, there stands newly crowned King Alistair snickering. "If I'd known being king was as easy as this, I wouldn't have been so hesitant."

Gigi shakes her head, a smile still plain on her face. "Tell me that when you're knee deep in missives and complaints."

"Oh, believe me, you'll be the first to know." He snorts, "Come on now, the other  _nobles_  are perplexed by your absence."

"What? Do they think you've killed me behind their backs?" Anora chuckles as the two women take one of each of Alistair's arms and walking towards the ballroom.

"I wouldn't be surprised, and Eamon would be at the head of that rumor I'd bet." Alistair responds lightly.

Upon entering the hall, Georgiana feels a sigh of relief filter through her. There is a finality to all this celebration, it's the end of the blight, the worry that comes with it, and in a way, she feels as if she can finally put her father to rest. After everything that's happened, the world may finally slow down even if it's just by a touch Gigi will be grateful.

When she and Loghain saw the Warden's emerge from Fort Drakon, their fallen companion cradled in Alistair's arms a wave of quiet struck the battlefield. Everyone, fell to one knee before him in silent reverence and thanks, the moment felt almost divine in its own right.

Gigi grins broadly as Fergus approaches, her brother had been abandoned in the wilds, he and a small number of surviving soldiers continuously fought their way through pockets of the hoard. They were reunited a few days after the battle of Denerim, he'd come to their estate hoping to find help and instead found his sobbing blubbering sister.

He still looks thin and weathered from months spent in the wild, but he too looks relieved. Like life, though broken as they once knew it, is finally at peace with itself. Even if he has lost his wife and his father, he has so much left to be grateful for.

"I was wondering where you'd run off to, Your Majesty. Thank you for finding my little sister." Fergus chuckles a bit.

"I didn't need finding, brother."

"Tell that to every Bann and Arl vying for your favor. The both of you, I suppose, my lady." He nods to Anora, who in turn curtsies.

Gigi wants to dismiss him, remind her brother that he in fact is Teyrn and not she, not now that he's home. Yet she bites her tongue, this is neither the time nor the place, Fergus will return to Highever in due time.

For now, she merely shoves his shoulder. "Mother will not approve of your gossip's tongue, dear brother."

"Yes, she'll be red with furry when she finds out." He laughs, "Might I have the next dance, Lady Anora? At this rate some low standing Bann will ask you first, and that'd just be insulting."

Anora laughs with him, "Oh? Some of the banns are lovely people, I'll be sure to let them know what you think of their station." She takes his hand anyway, allowing him to lead her off to the dance floor.

Alistair clears his throat, "Well, perhaps I should ask for your hand, then? To dance! I mean… So we aren't standing idle."

"Of course, Your Majesty." Georgiana agrees, taking his hand allowing him to lead her to dance.

"I'm afraid I must ask your forgiveness, my lady, I'm not a particularly good dancer."

"I'm sure your skills will suffice." She snickers.

"You give me too much credit, my lady."

"That is also equally likely."

"Ooo, ouch, you wounded me. My one little man feeling." Gigi laughs at his tone, prompting a little smirk from Alistair.

"Thank you for your service, Your Majesty, Ferelden will forever be in your debt."

"I didn't do much at all, compared to some."

"And now you have a crown, to do with what you will."

He chuckles, "I suppose so. First things first, reconstruction efforts must be established."

"That won't be too difficult, things of that nature fall into place quickly." She assures him.

"You're confident in that."

"I am, if I built one city back up from ruin I think I can do it again with twice as much grace." Gigi assures him.

"Is that your excuse for staying in the city to allow me time to court you properly? Because if so may I say I'm touched."

"Perhaps." She responds so easily Alistair seems to choke on her words.

"Oh ah… Is uh… Is my face red? I need to go dunk my head in something, excuse me." He leaves, actually leaves, rushing away with crimson tinted ears. Georgiana laughs, loud bellowing laughs, the kind that make her want to grip her middle to keep steady.

"What did you do?" Fergus asks once he reaches his sister.

"Oh nothing, just a woman's charm." She assures him.

"He's your king, don't be embarrassing him like that."

"I did nothing of the sort, how you wound me." Gigi looks to Anora, "It isn't my fault he hasn't interacted with a woman in Maker knows how long."

Anora lets out a soft sigh, "And if you've seen his travelling companions you would understand that, my lord."

"Women." Fergus sighs before asking his sister for a dance. The two say nothing, only dancing and smiling, because they are alive and neither one can entirely believe it. There's a sort of effortlessness in the finality of it all, like this is all they had been waiting for.

Gigi decides here and now, if this life is meant to be a tale for the ages, she is content ending it here.


End file.
